


Strayed from a Predetermined Path

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blackwatch Genji Shimada, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Non-Graphic Violence, Omnic Racism, Omnic Rights, Overwatch Agent Akande Ogundimu, References to Depression, Self-Hatred, Shambali (Overwatch), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22870807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Written for Akanday 2020*A different decision is like a rock causing ripples in the water. In one universe, Akande was scouted by Akinjide, destined to become one of the leaders of Talon.In this universe, Overwatch arrived to him first.*told through a series of short shots*
Relationships: Ana Amari & Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu & Ana Amari, Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu & Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu & Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu & Tekhartha Mondatta, Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu & Tekhartha Zenyatta, Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu & Winston, Genji Shimada & Tekhartha Zenyatta, Tekhartha Mondatta & Tekhartha Zenyatta, Tekhartha Mondatta/Tekhartha Zenyatta
Comments: 28
Kudos: 23
Collections: AkanDay 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Me, on the eighth of february: hey, akanday is this month, i could give it a go!
> 
> So this is the result of that decision. An Alternate Universe where Akande, rather than go with Akinjide Adeyemi to become a Talon leader, is scouted by Overwatch instead, and the changes that come from it.
> 
> Also since i'm a zenyatta fan, you also get a lot of him. :) because the changes ended up touching him, as well.
> 
> This fic has a rather open ending (it ends during what in canon-verse was Overwatch's fall) because I'd like to continue writing little pieces for this verse, but i had no time doing it now if i wanted this to be completed, so...
> 
> Also, there is a chapter dealing with blackwatch genji that will come later on and it needs some specific tags. i will warn in the notes of that chapter, as the snippet itself is rather dark, and you can choose to skip it :)

**00**

The room was big, with the kind of lavish décor that spoke more of money than it did of good taste.

Walls decorated with a muted gold wallpaper, paintings with expensive borders depicting scenes of idyllic plains met artistic photos of the area surrounding Numbani, the familiar landscape visible in the background, a stark contrast between wild land and city; the floor was dark, covered in expensive carpets with geometric twirls that recalled tribal designs of old, and the furniture was in dark mahogany, sturdy and polished. Even the shelves full of expensive editions was there more to appease the eye than to offer a few hours of reading time.

Every inch of the room –of the office– was meant to convey power and seem cozy, welcoming, while in truth telling nothing of the person who owned it other than a vapid exteriority.

The two standing in front of the desk barely glanced around, disinterested in the room, eyes trained in front of them, though one of the two kept tugging at his collar, unused to the pristine, fancy clothes he was wearing.

“He’s late,” he muttered through gritted teeth, obviously upset. “That’s not how you do business.”

“Oh, shut it Gabriel,” the woman by his side replied in the same low voice, sharp and berating. “It was difficult enough to book this appointment, don’t make Jack regret choosing you when you send our esteemed host running because of your grouchiness.”

“Oh, Ana, and you’d fess up what I did right away, would you?” Gabriel’s tone shifted to mocking, lips curled upwards.

“Of course I would _not_ , Gabriel. Don’t make me laugh.” Ana paused, long enough to watch Gabriel’s mocking gaze turn to amused curiosity, then she continued, “I am the one responsible to keep you under control. I will deal with you myself, without Jack having to lift even a finger. Tsk. Kids, all of you.”

Gabriel snorted and muttered “yes, mother,” at her, but she could not swat at him because before she could, the door of the office opened and a man entered, pace brisk.

In person he was younger than he appeared in the videos and interviews. He’d always looked in charge, stoic and older than the twenty-and-so years he had –a good ten years younger than both Ana and Gabriel were– but as he stood in front of them, his actual age was more obvious; he was tall, with muscles visible even under the expensive clothes, and just as visible was the prosthetic hand, casually peeking from the sleeve of his suit, fingers glinting in the lights of the room.

“Welcome,” he said, almost dismissively, but he was looking at them as he offered them his hand to shake –his prosthetic one.

Ana did not hesitate, reaching out and shaking his hand, gaze never moving from his face, and Gabriel was next, though he did not hide the way his eyes moved to their grasped hands then back up, almost as a challenge.

“Thank you for accepting this meeting, Mr Ogundimu,” Ana spoke up, nodding at him. “We will try not to take too much of your time.”

“That is alright,” the young man looked at them sternly, but Ana could see that this was simply his business expression. “Please sit down.”

They did and Ana hummed, noticing the chairs on their side appeared rather uncomfortable compared to the one of their esteemed host, Akande Ogundimu, the up and coming businessman. She couldn’t help but reassess her opinion of him –he was rumoured to be fair but demanding, accomplishing deal after deal with the acuity of a shark.

Noticing the way Gabriel leaned forwards, preparing to speak, Ana cleared her throat and spoke before he could. She hadn’t really lied when she’d said her presence here was to mediate and prevent him from making too many mistakes. “You are not an easy man to get in contact with, Mr Ogundimu.”

“Only through the right means,” he agreed, linking his fingers in front of his face and leaning onto the desk, pinning her down with the strength of his gaze. “When my secretary alerted me that Gabriel Reyes,” a nod to Gabriel, who grunted, “and the infamous sniper Ana Amari,” Ana’s lips thinned into a smile “were requesting a meeting with me, I couldn’t help but oblige. It is not every day a man is contacted by the esteemed members of Overwatch.”

There was something in his tone that spoke of guarded curiosity, but also something else, an undercurrent that Ana read as… not quite spite, but rather… a challenge.

It was clear Akande had an idea of what Gabriel and Ana wanted from him, and in any other circumstance, he would have been right.

Except he was not.

“I expect you will let me know what it is you require from me,” Akande said after the silence ticked on, and Ana nodded, straightening her back.

“Officially,” Ana started, once again beating Gabriel before he could put his foot into his mouth, “we are here on behalf of our appointed commander, Jack Morrison, to ask for your support to our cause. We have followed your career with interest, Mr Ogundimu, and your prosthetic company having open, public ties with Overwatch would benefit both yourself and us.”

Ana allowed her gaze to shift to Akande’s prosthetic hand.

It was well known that Akande’s company built quality prosthetics, always one step ahead with their advanced technology and affordable fees, and their prices were so competitive other companies had to lower their own to keep up.

Akande himself was testament of that quality –his arm had been lost not even two years earlier, and after a period of healing where Akande had struggled to deal with his disability and learned to work with the new prosthetic arm, he’d flourished. His hand was so advanced that its circuits mimicked nerves and muscles in such a way that it had almost the same range of sensitivity and motion his organic hand had.

Something Ana had not expected to see, though, was the implant near Akande’s eye –not big enough to be truly noticeable, but her keen eyes were unparalleled.

Was Akande experimenting with more technology than just a prosthetic hand? If so, what was the goal of it?

Not allowing any of her thoughts to appear on her face, she smiled slowly, lips stretched into a secretive smile. “ _Officially_ ,” she repeated. “It is only to be expected. Overwatch is backed by the UN and the NATO both, with ties that make it incredibly _remunerative_ to stand by us, rather than not. After all, it was us who brought the Omnic Crisis to an end –and since then, we have been sanctioned to clean up the aftermath and make sure no loose ends are left to be exploited. If we were to support your company, Mr Ogundimu, it would give you a good chance to expand your reach further, while allowing us to have first-pick on the newest technologic advancements.”

It was a rehearsed speech, one Ana and others from Overwatch had used many times in the past –most of the time honestly. This was not such a time.

Akande’s sharp eyes never left hers. “Officially,” he agreed, slowly, focusing on the right part of her speech. “And if we were to take things off the records? Would your words change at all?”

“Mr Ogundimu,” Ana hummed, her tone shifting to something mock-shocked. “Why, it would almost seem like you’re implying we are here with some kind of secret agenda.”

Akande blinked at her, surprise flashing past his expression –and then, much to Ana’s glee, rather than hide it behind his stern façade, Akande started to laugh, openly and plainly. Laughter smoothed down the wrinkles on his face and Ana was but a woman –she could appreciate this man’s beauty, even if he was ten years younger than her.

“Oh, I like you, miss Amari.” His eyes grew sharper. “I admit, I had expected nothing more than that from you.” His smile shifted to something guarded, dark. “It would not be the first time I’ve been approached with similar offers, and I have had to refuse quite a few that were less than appealing, and even less equal on my part. I had half a mind to refuse you a meeting based on a previous interaction I’ve had with someone who claimed to come from your organization in the past…” at this, Ana and Gabriel shared a look, not willing to voice their suspicious in front of their host “but now… consider me intrigued.”

A beat, where they watched each other in silence. Then Akande added, tilting his head to the side, smug, “unless you prove to be all talk and no action, then you might find I tire rather quickly.”

Gabriel couldn’t help the small, startled snort at that, and Akande’s eyes shifted to him in an instant. Gabriel felt the focus and the intent like a weight, pressing down on him, daring him to speak.

He’d questioned Jack’s decision before, the interest he’d taken in this man through videos and interviews and old records of his fights… but faced with him, with that stare, Gabriel could admit maybe Jack had been right to send him here.

Not that he would admit that to him.

“Let’s not mince words, alright?” he drawled out, and Ana flashed him a glare, startled when he spoke up. “Oh, let it go, Ana. You can do the pretty words, but I can lay down the facts. Wouldn’t want to make our businessman feel like he wasted his time on us, yeah?”

Huffing at him, Ana nonetheless allowed him the stage, aware that at this point, Akande was intrigued enough he would listen.

“We are here because we want you,” Gabriel said plainly. “We have good informants, Ogundimu, and we’ve noticed you are good at what you do… but you’re not _happy_ with it.”

His blunt words caught Akande’s attention line, hook and sinker. The frown on his face grew more pronounced, and there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before… but he did not move, frozen in place, and it allowed Gabriel to continue speaking without fear of being assaulted.

“You’re an amazing businessman,” Gabriel hummed, making a grand show of motioning to the room around them. “Look at this, all so flashy, so expensive. So _empty_. You tried to fill your life with your job because your only passion has gone poof–” he made a motion like something exploding “and now you’re restless. Oh, I get it. Even now, I can’t sit still in a stuffy office, I’ll just start choking. I miss combat. I miss the thrill. Sometimes it might be dangerous, but the adrenaline makes you feel _alive_.” There was something raw in his eyes, in the way his lips twitched as he spoke, in the curt motions of his hands as he drove his point home. Ana watched him be more honest and open with a stranger than he’d ever been with his friends, and felt a small jolt of sadness. Yet, even in his honesty, Gabriel had an ulterior motive. “And you, Ogundimu, are like me. No ifs or buts –you are going _mad_ , sitting still all day, doing business, running your growing empire. You miss the adrenaline. The punching. The thrill. We’re here to offer you exactly that.”

Ana observed as Akande’s face grew almost stormy, dark with what Gabriel was saying –assuming– of him… yet she also saw the tightened jaw, and the flicker of something in his eyes that was as raw and wanting as the look of a caged animal wishing for freedom.

She could admit, quietly and only to herself, that perhaps Jack had been right to assign Gabriel to this mission specifically, together with her.

“We are offering you a place with us,” she interjected, watching as Akande turned towards her again. “Overwatch wishes to recruit you.”

The long, drawn-out pause was enough that any lesser man might have started to worry, or squirm –yet neither Ana nor Gabriel moved an inch, remaining quiet and looking back as Akande took turns to stare at them before he finally stood up, pacing on the other side of the desk.

“It seems far too easy,” he muttered “far too good to be true. So I shall ask –what would the catch be?”

Ana leaned back into the chair, relaxing instantly, and Gabriel offered Akande a casual shrug.

“We can talk it out,” he offered, grinning, sure they’d won. “No biggie.”


	2. 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a little shorter, but it's a little interaction i thought would be cute :3

**01**

Akande’s sharp eyes took stock of the training grounds around him, narrowing as they flicked from one side to the other.

It was large for an enclosed space, with sturdy cement walls surrounding it, but he could see in the upper right area a small glass panel, behind which seemed to be a control room. He scoured the walls and ceilings for cameras, but could only find a few –not enough to cover the entirety of the training grounds in an exhaustive way, so he inferred there were more cameras hidden from sight, including probably some at eye-level.

There was a row of neat targets not far from where he was, and by the small rails on the floor, the targets could move around, allowing for a greater range.

He wondered, idly, if they could move higher, increasing the difficulty of the workout, and resolved to ask at a later date.

“This is just one of many different training grounds we have on site,” at his side, Strike Commander Jack Morrison nodded towards the control room. “From up there, physicians and trained medics can monitor the workouts and change the difficulty levels based on each person’s performance. At times, it is a matter of tweaking details to increase an agent’s basic skills, other times it is to see how far they can be pushed under the right pressure.”

“I see.” Akande frowned, deep in thought.

By Jack’s tension and the way he kept his eyes trained upwards, Akande had the suspicion that they were being monitored even now. Overwatch might have opened its doors to him rather quickly, but he was still an incognita, and he knew they were bound to be suspicious of him until he settled in or decided to leave.

And probably even past that. He could understand, as he was suspicious of them as well.

So far, nothing he’d seen had truly convinced him to stay, but he wished to give them a chance simply due to Gabriel’s promises, which Jack had doubled down once they’d met for the first time.

“And who _are_ you?”

Akande blinked, his train of thoughts interrupted by a loud, suspicious voice from behind him.

He turned around, hand clenched into a fist in preparation for possible trouble, only to have to look down, as the one who had spoken was a short, scruffy kid –possibly a teenager– wearing a large, off-size cowboy hat.

Said teen glared up at him with a small pout from behind the edge of the hat, fingers tapping absently at his belt, where Akande caught the glimpse of a training level gun.

“Isn’t it rude to ask before introducing yourself, runt?” Akande raised both eyebrows down at him, not at all intimidated by this scrawny teenager, and watched in amusement as the teen clenched his teeth and his fists, puffing his chest out in rage.

“Ain’t the new one around here smelling like old sock!”

“ _Jesse_.”

The teen –Jesse, apparently– flinched at Jack’s sharp voice, only to turn around and level him with an impressive glare.

“Gabe said it’s my time to use the training grounds, old man,” he told Jack, crossing his arms in front of his chest as if to challenge the Commander. “If this guy needs to train, he can do it after me.”

Blinking at the impudent teen and at his obvious familiarity with both Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison, Akande snorted, waving one hand when Jesse turned to glare at him. “I do not mind watching the kid’s training.” Then, his mirth fell a little. “Had no idea Overwatch enlisted teenagers.”

Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking almost pained, and ignored Jesse’s loud complaints about his age. “It was not… a premeditated choice, and not one we would extend to other kids, either.” Despite the glare, Jesse seemed happy he’d been an exception. “Akande Ogundimu, this is Jesse McCree. Jesse, try to behave, else Ana will be cross with you. Mr Ogundimu is a possible new recruit, and we have been giving him an introductory course.”

Jesse frowned, but looked less defensive, a small wince at the mention of Ana making Akande aware of who, exactly, he respected among them. Morrison definitely was not on that list, but Reyes apparently ranked lower than Amari did.

“‘s alright,” he muttered, looking away from them and towards the set of targets.

He looked rather moody, though Akande could sort of understand.

“You’re a gunslinger, little one?” rather than sounding condescending, Akande made sure to keep his tone even, and when Jesse peeked at him from under the rim of his hat, even more suspicious, he held back his smile.

“Yeah, what ‘bout it? Don’t believe I could be any good?”

Akande snorted at that. “I’ll only believe what I can see with my own eye, kid.” Before Jesse could bristle at that, Akande continued. “You never did introduce yourself, you know. If you want to be taken seriously, you have to make people remember your name.”

“Yeah, but _he_ told you my name!” Jesse scoffed. “Never mind. Just watch me blow your feet right out of your socks!”

Without sparing them another glance, Jesse marched towards the targets, though remaining at a respectable distance from them.

At Akande’s side, Jack exhaled deeply. “Sorry about him. He just has a lot to live up to.”

“I don’t mind. I was a kid who wanted to live up to a lot of expectations myself, not that long ago. How old is he?”

“He’s seventeen–” Jack nodded at Akande’s eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise. “He looks younger and uses that to his advantage. We caught him in a gang in America, Gabriel thought he would be wasted in juvenile and went against orders to get him with us. He’s been here for a few months training with Gabriel, but he doesn’t go out on missions.”

“I guess _if_ I join…” Akande smirked at the way Jack perked up at his words “he would be delighted not to be the latest recruit any longer.”

The soft smile on Jack’s lips was small but honest. “Unless he decides he wants to butt heads with you.”

They stopped speaking when the targets in front of Jesse started to move, following a straight line before jerking abruptly to the side to return back from where they came from, only to start the cycle again –fast enough that even Akande had to blink and focus, surprised at the speed. Jesse observed them with a blank expression, fingers tapping along the barrel of his gun without even taking it out of his belt.

Akande’s focus moved from the targets to him, surprised at such patience from the kid who’d seemed so fiery just moments before, but kept his mouth shut and waited, and soon enough, Jesse moved.

His hand snatched the gun from his side, twirling it expertly in his fingers, snapped his arm in front of him and–

Six shots rang in the silence of the training area, one after the other in quick succession, and Akande admired the steady form, Jesse’s body resembling a statue before he swirled his gun once again and slid it back into its holster with a practiced motion.

Kid was making sure to be a show off.

The targets stopped moving, and Akande squinted. Even from this far, he could see that all six shots had hit –not bullseyes, he noticed, but all the bullets had left holes towards the centre of the target.

For a kid this young and with moving targets, it was an impressive feat, and judging by Jesse’s smug expression, the kid knew that just as well.

“Well done,” Jack praised, though Jesse seemed to dismiss his comment with a small shrug, more interested to see what the newbie would say instead.

“That was rather impressive,” Akande conceded, and he did not need to fake his compliment. “How long have you been training?”

“Ana brings me here every day for two hours in the morning –one if she has a mission,” Jesse stated proudly. “I can’t hit bullseyes yet, but she says I’m the best she’s trained so far!”

“Perhaps we should leave you to your training while we move on,” Jack decided, rubbing the back of his neck. “There are still a few things we need to discuss.”

Akande nodded at him. His mood had improved, amused at the show Jesse had put on for them, but Jack’s mention reminded him that there were things he still had to know about Overwatch before committing. That he had been allowed to see the training area meant this was open to the public, or at least open to guided visits… but he was aware there was much more to Overwatch than met the eye, and if he wanted to commit to this, he needed to learn more about it.

As far as he knew through his own research, Overwatch was edge-cutting, but there were many things that needed to be worked on, and Akande was itching for a new project anyway, even if the deal Gabriel had proposed were to fall through…

“Ah, you’re leaving already?” Jesse tried not to look too disappointed, as he’d been pleased to have a bit of a crowd to show off too, then shrugged. “Have fun.”

Jack waved him off and motioned towards the secondary entrance and Akande turned to follow.

“Uh… mister Ogundimu?” Jesse spoke up, stilling him mid-step.

He turned around and watched Jesse hesitate, rubbing his nose self-consciously and looking almost mulish, then he seemed to gather himself because he straightened his back and tugged the hat off his head, staring up at him with determination. “Uh, listen, I’m… you don’t smell like an old sock! If you join us, I promise to be a good senior member!”

Akande’s laughter echoed into the emptiness of the training ground, his amusement so obvious even Jesse couldn’t feel upset, lips twitching upwards in a small satisfied smile before he ran back towards the targets, ready to reload his gun and start another training simulation.

“If I were to join, I guess I would not find it boring,” Akande murmured, shaking his head, and his smile faded back into a serious expression as he turned towards Jack, meeting his eyes head on. “That is, if I am satisfied with your answers.”

Jack nodded curtly, and the two left the training grounds, accompanied by the sound of Jesse’s gun going off again.


	3. 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgot to post this before going to bed hhh
> 
> TIME FOR AKINJIDE TO APPEAR

**02**

“I was hoping to catch you here.”

Akande did not jump at the unexpected voice, but he did freeze, tensing up.

He had not heard anyone approaching, even with his senses spread out, and to have someone appear so close to him, so suddenly, it spoke of skills and practice that were above Akande’s own.

He did not like it.

Turning around, hands clenched into fists at his sides, Akande met head-on the gaze of a man standing a few feet away. He was dressed with only a pair of pants and shoes, no shirt on, allowing Akande a good view of his muscles and the augmentations around his shoulders coming from his back.

The wild expression had Akande instantly wary, but all of his focus shifted towards the prosthetic on his left arm –an enormous one, the metal glinting under the sun almost menacingly. Akande could see it as the weapon it was, and recognition flashed through his face, eyes growing wide as its name –and the name of its owner– burst through his mind, squashing any other thought.

He’d shifted into a defensive position before he could think better of it, frowning at the man.

“I see you recognise your betters, young man.” There was something condescending in his voice, but Akande could concede that with the kind of power at his disposal, a man such as Akinjide Adeyemi could truly have the right of it. “Good. That will make this easier.”

“What does the famed Scourge of Numbani want from me?” he asked, sounding far steadier than he felt.

Part of it was wariness, truly, but part of it was awe. The Scourge of Numbani, wearing the doomfist, had terrorized the city and its surroundings for a long time, and aside for the horrid manners and the terrorist attacks he inflicted on humans and omnics alike, Akande could respect the man’s strength for what it was.

That, and his freedom –something that Akande himself had sorely lacked, since his own injury… at least until Overwatch had made contact.

“I am here because I have heard of you, Akande.” The man stepped closer, his doomfist abandoned at his side like it weighted nothing, but its intimidating presence remained in the air between them, like something neither could address nor ignore. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself. Akande Ogundimu, one of the youngest businessmen alive, making his company _thrive_.” His words were complimenting, but his tone was mocking.

“I know all about my merits,” Akande brushed him off, not ready to take offense but not willing to put up with the scorn either. “Are you here to offer praise?”

Akinjide’s laugh took Akande by surprise, as he had expected to see the man stiffen at the clear challenge in Akande’s tone; instead, the man seemed pleased.

“Oh, of course. I know all about your… accomplishments, Akande –yet, is there any worth in them that you’d claim for yourself? Or do you crave for something more than just that?” the man’s expression was still wild, almost crazed, but that was simply a mask –behind that sharp gaze, Akande could read an equally sharp mind observing him, studying him… judging him. “Your soul is not that of a meek gazelle –your destiny is to be a predator. Aggressive. Ferocious.”

“Are we not supposed to be above simple beasts?” Akande did not relax, but even faced with a fearsome opponent, he could not make himself shut up –yet once again his daring words were met with open amusement, not rebuke.

This was a man who only respected power and those wielding it, and nothing else.

All of Akande’s empire, his growing company, his successful business, his money… they mattered none to the Scourge.

“Oh, yes. But even those beasts can teach us the way to greatness, Akande. For they recognise those more powerful than themselves, bow to their superiors, kneel and grovel when one takes control. And humans are nothing but animals –they cower and shrink in front of someone who knows when to take.”

The growing smirk on his lips stretched on and on, wide and unafraid and incredibly amused, but Akande did not even think to return it, still frowning at him.

A part of him wondered why the man had accosted him –but a bigger part of him, one that was busy analysing the situation, was far more worried about how it would look, if his current ‘associates’ were to find out about this conversation.

Overwatch was many things, but trusting was not one of them –not someone who had been inducted into the organization only a month prior, at the very least.

“We can stay and debate what humans can… or should… be all day,” Akande straightened his back. “Yet I suspect it is not why you are here.”

“Of course not.” Akinjide lifted his doomfist in the air, clenching his fingers tightly. “I am here because I’ve followed your previous career until you were… sadly incapacitated.”

The mention of his incident still stung, but Akande had attempted to leave it behind him. He could not change the past, or have his original arm back, but he had made do –first with his company, and now, with Overwatch. He was still on trial, so to speak, and had been sent only on smaller missions, where no one could track his identity down and recognise him… but he had never felt as alive as he had during those missions.

And now…

“You plan to ask me to join you.” The notion was… surprising, yet with Overwatch having reached out to him for a similar reason, Akande was not as shocked as he should have been.

A little flicker of satisfaction flared underneath his skin, like liquid fire, pleasure at the thought that his skills had been noticed, though he was not blinded to the full truth, for either party –he was a good fighter, skilled and holding promise for the future, but he was also rich, and his prosthetic company was just as enticing as his own skills were.

And as Akande glanced at the doomfist, his eyes, trained after years of studying for his own company, working together with technicians, mechanic and medics to create better and better prosthetics to keep on top of the market, could see ways to make an already deathly weapon into something more.

Something dangerous, and _glorious_.

Yes –he could see why the Scourge had decided to reach out to him.

“Yes.” Akinjide’s smirk was still as deranged as before, and smug, but Akande could see the appeal in the offer –power, and guidance. The knowledge that Akinjide could allow him to fight free of restraints, because rules did not apply to a terrorist. “My student. Free to unleash your strength against worthy opponents, without chains. To subjugate and stand upon those who wish to tie you down. I would teach you myself, have you become something else entirely under my tutelage. Use the skills you own for something _greater_. Are you not tired of being opposed by useless rules? By demands for you to be less than you could? Are you not tired to sit in front of a desk, wasting your gifts?”

Akande looked down at himself.

He had returned to Numbani to sign documents, see that his company continued to run even without him giving it his full attention, gather more things to carry with him for the next training regimen Gabriel had devised for him.

His clothes were casual, but expensive –a taste he had acquired as his company grew in power and value– and while they fit perfectly, accentuating his frame, they did nothing to hide the muscles underneath, result of years of rigorous training, of forcing his body to bend to his mind, to be the best, to always win…

The Akande he saw in the mirror every day was but a pale remnant of the Akande he had been while competing at martial arts tournaments, but an Akande who was slowly remembering what it meant to fight thanks to Gabriel’s tutelage and his new purpose, even if still tentative.

There was nothing on him that could tie him to Overwatch –an enemy to all Akinjide was, in every way. And they were that –Overwatch had tried many times to apprehend the Scourge of Numbani, yet had always failed, like the man had some help that Overwatch did not.

Akinjide wanted him on his side.

He had not expected _this_.

For a long moment, Akande considered the man in front of him –the offer, the dangling apple that seemed far juicier than anything he’d seen before.

Freedom. Power.

Unrestrained capability to change, and model himself to be whatever he wanted to be, following this man.

It was far less enticing than he had expected it to be.

Not full freedom –always tied, not by the chains of control, but rather to a leash, tempered by this man’s own goals, his intentions and directions. Used to further his agenda, used as a weapon with the doomfist dangled in front of him like a consolation prize that he could never touch himself.

Still restrained, by Akinjide and whoever he had by his side that helped him slip away from Overwatch’s control, time and time again.

“You are aware that it would be impossible for me to give you my answer now.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them –and again, Akinjide seemed to approve of them, nodding, even if the smirk never quite left his face, as if he still expected to come out as a victor.

And why would he not believe so?

In his eyes, Akande had no other way out.

“Will I be allowed to refuse, if I so choose?” he asked then, suspicious.

Akinjide’s smirk grew wider, the coldness in his stare an answer in itself.

Of course not. That much he knew already.

“Would you really?” the man asked.

Akande forced himself to sneer. “Regardless, I will need time.”

“Of course. It is only right you need to make sure all your affairs are… in perfect order. Even in that, I will make sure you have help.”

Akande blinked. Akinjide, for all he could offer to him in terms of chaos, did not look like a master businessman. The idea that he was backed by people in positions of power strengthened in his mind, and he felt a shiver run down his back.

Perhaps… this offer held more than he had first thought.

“How will I contact you?” he asked then.

Akinjide moved quickly, throwing something small and compact at him, and Akande reacted instinctively, reaching out to catch it mid-air. It was a small prepaid phone, nondescriptive and brandless, sleek and black. He flicked it open –no contacts, no icons.

“I will contact you.” Akinjide straightened his back. “You have three days, little Akande. Then, I am coming.”

Akande did not answer, his grip on the phone so steely he was glad he’d grabbed it with his human hand rather than his prosthetic one, and watched as Akinjide turned his back to him, uncaring and unbothered, and turned the corner, disappearing from view.

Behind him, the light of the sun tinged red with sunset, and Akande gritted his teeth, tugging the sleeves of his shirt down and forcing his feet to carry him into the building.

He had been so tense during the conversation that his muscles ached now, but he did not allow himself to relax until he was inside his office –the only room of the building where Overwatch had placed interference-chips to prevent bugs.

Akande sat down at his desk, eyes focused on the phone in front of him for what felt like forever, seconds ticked by as he collected his thoughts, tapping his fingers absently on the table, considering, wondering, balanced on such a thin edge he felt almost weightless.

On both sides, a path to take. On one side, a leash, but also power free for him to grasp, and the promise of tutelage, of lawless chaos, fighting against the rules he so detested, rules that had prevented him from living out his dream to its conclusion, and the promise of growth. On the other, chains, the knowledge that he would be tied down by laws just as restrictive as the ones he so hated, control that would not be in his hands unless he seized it, but possibilities and growth were not off the table either.

The sun disappeared from the sky outside the window, darkness slowly advancing, and the lights of his office flickered on by themselves, making him blink and finally snap out of his trance.

He finally reached to the side and picked up his own phone with a sudden, sharp motion and slowly composed a number he only recently had memorised.

It took three rings before someone picked up.

“Yes?” the familiar voice sounded muffled, and Akande exhaled slowly.

“Reyes,” he murmured, low and steady. “There is something you need to know.”


	4. 03

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we see that things have changed enough that other people have also been taken by the ripples in the water of this AU.
> 
> specifically... zen.

**03**

“You have been restless, lately.”

Zenyatta, startled by the unexpected words, jolted a little, twisting his head to turn around, and the oil can tipped a few precious droplets on his wrist, where they trickled down to stain the floor, missing his sleeve by an inch.

“Forgive me, master.” Feeling chastised, Zenyatta exhaled an artificial sigh. “It is true. I have been… thinking.”

“Now, that seems to never bring anything good when you do it, my dear.”

Zenyatta’s optics jolted up to seek Mondatta’s ones, only to be met with a light, amused laughter. “Master!”

“Forgive me for the quip, Zenyatta, but it is true every time you have been restless there have been… incidents around the monastery.”

Sheepish, Zenyatta flashed his master a small, unabashed smile through his forehead array. “That… might be true, yes.” a beat “Yet, you cannot deny things have been more… lively, since I have taken residence here.”

“That is also true, yes.” Indulgent, Mondatta smiled back. “Now, my dear. Will you share with your old mentor what hails you so much?”

Instantly, all mirth drained out of Zenyatta, and he looked down at his lap, mindlessly putting a cap on the oil bottle and pushing it on the side.

Mondatta seemed to understand that something was wrong, and sat down by his side, uncaring if the stones of the pavement dirtied his pristine clothes. Some of the other monks complained that Mondatta needed to give a better example to the newcomers and the visitors, but it was always hard to keep himself distant when so many needed his presence, one among many his own young student, one he loved the most.

“Tell me, Zenyatta.”

A few seconds ticked by, and Mondatta risked opening his senses, only to retreat almost instantly at the wave of discord that assaulted him, the thick darkness surrounding Zenyatta like an impenetrable blanket. “Oh, _Zenyatta_.”

Wincing at the soft, understanding tone, Zenyatta looked away.

“Forgive me, master.”

“Why should you beg forgiveness, my dear, when it is obvious the cause of all this torment rests on me?”

Zenyatta’s optics snapped back to Mondatta in an instant, and he reached out to him so quickly, grasping Mondatta’s hand into his own, that Mondatta’s sensors barely registered him moving at all. “No! It is never your fault! It’s just–” he faltered, and his fingers tightened around Mondatta considerably. “I have watched you get hurt.”

Mondatta exhaled softly, sounding pained at the confession.

It had happened during the previous month, and he had hoped, although vainly, that the memory had faded from Zenyatta’s memory banks. Sadly, he had been mistaken.

During one of Mondatta’s sermons –tentative, early ones, with few people attending, and a lot of dissenters– a man had lashed out against him, bursting through the flimsy lines of defense separating Mondatta from the crowd, and had almost succeeded into ripping out Mondatta’s left arm, tugging it out of its connector socket and rendering it mostly useless.

Mondatta had stumbled back while other humans fought back against the attacker, and Zenyatta had reached out, shocked at the violent display, to try and fix the damage.

His hand still glitched, even a month later –they had little help with repairs, and what they could fix had to be done with scraps rather than new parts. Mondatta knew they would eventually find a way to fix his arm so he could go back to normal, but until then, he would need to deal with glitchy commands causing his fingers to twitch spasmodically without reason.

“I understand your worries, my dear.” And he did. Zenyatta begged him to consider other ways to talk in public, without having to put himself into danger so needlessly, but Mondatta refused to allow himself to be cowed. “But I will bear these wounds on my body while I continue to work on the path the Iris chose for me. I will not raise a hand against humans as if they are my enemies.”

“But they will hurt you again!” Zenyatta looked down, unable to stare at Mondatta’s optics, ashamed of his own emotions and their frailty. “I can’t… I cannot stand by you, and watch as you get _maimed_.”

“What else would you wish me to do, Zenyatta? Allow humans to turn me into something I am not, simply because they believe I am as such without proof? I will not give them this inch they need. This can be resolved peacefully. The more they strike, the more I will stand back up, even if my body will be destroyed and turned to scraps.” Mondatta watched Zenyatta seize and freeze, the words only causing the whirlwind of agitation to thicken further. “If they will make a martyr of me, so be it. But I refuse to step down and turn their words into truth. There is a peaceful way to deal with violence, and I will not bend to the will of others.”

“Then you will break,” Zenyatta murmured, and it was his synth that broke, sharp like an out-of-tune note in a pleasant song. Desperate, and scrambling for a solution. “I do not want to see you decommissioned because you refuse to protect yourself. I do not ask you to lash back or start a fight –all I ask is for you to defend yourself. You have that right. Humans–”

“Humans might use self-defense as a truth, but sadly it is not a right we are offered as freely, Zenyatta. We will live as we have to, and that means being aware we are not on the same level as they are.”

“But we could! Accepting things passively is not the way, brother!”

“Is that why I have seen you practice with your mala, Zenyatta?”

Again, Zenyatta winced, though he supposed a part of him knew that Mondatta would find out about that. He always did. “Brother…”

“Zenyatta.”

In a sudden surge of confidence, Zenyatta looked up, forehead array burning brightly, anger coating his processes, spurring him on. “I understand you do not wish to do it –but _I_ wish to. The Iris is still within me, and I can still touch it, reach out and guide its light through me to heal. It is not gone. I have trained, I have found its twisted opposite, and harnessed it.” He did not mention his failures, the way Discord had stung his sensors, dulling them. He did not mention the nightmares when the darkness had lashed back because he had not been fast enough to direct it elsewhere, to let it dissipate. “Yet, the Iris is still within me. I feel this path is not incorrect. If you will not risk it yourself, place your trust in me –I will bear the consequences. I will train to fight, and I will protect you. I will stand guard so you can continue on this path, and I will follow mine, and change people without letting them destroy me.”

Mondatta gently tugged his hand away from Zenyatta’s grip, cupping his faceplate. His left hand shook, fingers twitching before it subsided.

“It breaks my core to see you so set upon a path of destruction, Zenyatta.” And Zenyatta’s despair only grew stronger at that, at Mondatta’s pained words. “Yet I will not stop you –you have made your decision, even if it is not one I can condone, or share. Perhaps, it is simply that this life does not agree with you –we are passive, and placid, and you’ve always been in need of more, like a torrent fighting to rush out of its bed, its bends and turns too restrictive.”

Zenyatta’s forehead array blinked in confusion, then his core was gripped in ice. “Are you casting me away, brother?”

The answer was as swift as his panic. “No! Never. Never, Zenyatta. This is your home.”

 _‘You are my home,’_ Zenyatta thought, but the words never left his synth, swallowed down in a rush of fear mixed with anticipation. “Then…?”

“I am saying that perhaps it is time for you to travel. I know,” Mondatta leaned forwards, pressing their foreheads together, “I have been reluctant to allow you to leave, in the past, but I can see that inaction has not helped your unrest. You need to find balance within yourself and the world.”

“Travel…?”

Zenyatta hesitated, but couldn’t help the jolt of excitement pooling in his circuits. He’d wanted to leave the monastery with those of his brothers and sisters who travelled to spread the word of the Iris in the past, but Mondatta had wished to keep him close, one of the rare members who could touch the Iris.

Now, Mondatta himself wanted him to take this step, and Zenyatta felt a complex mix of hesitance and desire.

He saw that Mondatta’s wish for him stemmed from the thought that, if confronted with life outside the monastery, Zenyatta would learn to value Mondatta’s teachings, see that it was the best way to approach the situation in the face of violence… and he knew, deep within himself, that it would not happen.

If being secluded from the world had only strengthened Zenyatta’s opinion –that they all deserved to defend themselves when attacked, that they had this right and should fight for it– then being thrown back out would not make him suddenly change.

Yet, he could see why Mondatta wanted him to see things for himself once again, not as a nameless omnic taking his first steps after coming to consciousness, but as an omnic part of the Shambali –he’d learned things that he did not know before. If he chose, he could try to live as Mondatta wanted. Part of him wanted to, to make Mondatta proud, to follow through even if it ended up suppressing Zenyatta’s own self… but he also knew, with bittersweet awareness, that Mondatta would be the first to ask him not to, if it truly went against his will.

That Zenyatta’s capability of choice was more important to Mondatta than having Zenyatta agree with him all the time.

Mondatta moved back, just a fraction, and Zenyatta’s optics refocused on his faceplate.

“You need to learn more than what you can by staying here, motionless. You are but a pebble, young and untrained, but a single pebble rolling can become an avalanche, if it falls the right way. You have been buried within this monastery for so long, I fear it has made your restlessness worse. I would like to see you join one of our groups scattered around the world.”

Zenyatta snorted, despite the ache within his core. “You think it would make me feel less desperate to protect you, if I were away from you?”

“I feel you could learn not to depend on me so much,” and though the words were chiding again, Mondatta’s tone was warm, and full of care. “There are lessons you need to learn that I cannot teach you, not even as your master. Life –human or omnic– is unpredictable. It is also beautiful, and fleeting, and unique. If you learn more about humans, and omnics, in a place that is not as sheltered as here, I hope you will come to agree with my views a little more.”

“How could I, when your views cause you so much pain?”

“More of that is what our brothers and sisters around the world feel every day on their own chassis. A hand that will not properly function is nothing, compared to what they face. We must take it upon ourselves to bring their suffering to light, and change the tide of fate to us. We are making a difference just by existing –we are seen, and we are heard. And it might be slow, but more and more humans are understanding we are not tools made of metal, but beings with souls just like them, even if we were made, not born.”

Zenyatta shook his head, even as Mondatta embraced him quietly, exhaling softly.

“I can try,” Zenyatta offered, an olive branch. “I cannot promise to change who I am, but I can try.”

Mondatta’s chuckle was sad, but the arms wrapped around him were warm, and welcoming.

“That is all I could ever ask, my dear.”


	5. 04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to Akande time, fams! (and more mondatta)

**04**

“We have received disturbing news.”

Akande grunted and looked up, sweat running down the sides of his face.

The training grounds were in disarray after he’d spent the past half an hour methodically dismantling training bots with his fists after the latest tweaks he’d done to his prosthetic, but his mind was clear, thoughts sharper now that he had some good exercise.

Standing nearby was Ana, who did not hide the way she looked him over, appreciating his physique, and Akande’s lips curled up in a pleased smirk before he focused on her words and straightened his back.

“What kind of disturbing?” he asked, reaching out towards the corner of the training area.

A drone, reacting to his open hand, buzzed towards him with a bottle of water for him to drink and a towel.

“There is a possible disturbance in England,” she told him, professional and clipped, flicking past a few pages of her tablet. “It has been brewing for a while, and the higher-ups have kept an eye on it, but…”

“But you think it’s growing to be bigger than what they expected.”

Ana hummed in agreement, and Akande sighed, though inwardly he was rather pleased.

He knew that Ana was, above anything else, loyal –but he also knew that just as he had, she had sniffed out that there was something unknown within Overwatch as well. Akande himself was not loyal to the organization, and never had been, not caring to keep such thoughts hidden when he knew the same higher-ups had willingly sought him out to use as a pawn even before he’d been with them, but to know Ana would go to him first –or at least, one of the firsts– was enough to hint to a possible alliance between them, if things went south quicker than Akande had anticipated.

Overwatch’s success was not secured yet, not with the moles still existing even years after Akande had joined and started to rise up the ranks within the organization, but he was in a much better place now than he had been when he’d started, especially with the secret tutoring he’d done under Akinjide, under strict Overwatch supervision to make sure he did not stray from their side.

“What kind of disturbance are we talking about?” he wriggled his prosthetic fingers a little, dispelling the static that had accumulated there. He’d have to fix this soon.

“A group of omnics asking for omnic rights.”

That gave Akande pause. “The Shambali…?”

Ana looked approvingly at him, pleased he knew of the pacifist group, then shook her head. “No, it would be another one. Their… methods are far less… civil. They have made statements in the past regarding their desire for omnics to have greater rights –and they do not shy from using a more hands-on approach when dealing with dissenters.”

Narrowing his eyes in thought, Akande moved out of the training room with Ana in tow, walking towards the changing room. “That does not sound important enough for Overwatch to bother with, at least not at the present moment. What worries you so?”

Ana stopped outside the door, humming as Akande went through the drone-refreshers, not wanting to have Ana wait for him to shower.

“Null Sector –this is their name as of now– have started to approach the smaller congregations of Shambali members around the world, attempting to sway them to their ranks. With mixed results.”

Now, that was more interesting. The Shambali professed to be pacifist, and refused to raise their hands against anyone, even in self defense. Null Sector, by what Ana said, had far less qualms.

He stepped out of the changing room with his clothes back on. “You expect the Shambali to cede territory, so to speak?”“””

“It is a possibility. We do not truly know if the Shambali are as pacifist as they claim. There have been dissents among the followers after their leader was harmed during one of his sermons. It is possible their anti-war sentiment is just a ruse.”

Akande and Ana continued to walk out of the training area, passing by a rather grumpy Jesse being scolded by Gabriel for something or another. Akande waited until they were both out of range before speaking again. “I do not think it is.”

Surprised, Ana slowed down. “What makes you think so?”

Considering his words carefully, Akande hummed and stopped, looking at her. “There is… something peculiar about the Shambali. Their beliefs carry an air of honesty. And my informants have mentioned, more than once, that their leader has a rather peculiar skill. A skill that could easily be used to carry the Shambali name to fame… yet he does not.”

“Whatever would that be?” Ana did not seem convinced. “If their leader is biding his time, then concealing his powers would fool others into believing he is harmless. Perhaps someone should be sent to the Shambali and investigate the matter better that we have so far.”

“If the Shambali leader used his power,” Akande replied slowly, frowning down at the floor, deep in thought, “it would cause others to convert to his religion. It is a power of healing.”

“Healing?” Ana’s expression cleared. “Then it is by no means a novelty or a secret. Nanomachines have aided my own expertise for the past decade, and I am not the only person who has started to work with them. Angela Ziegler, you know her yes? She has shown a peculiar interest in my latest work.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “With the way you spoke, I thought you meant Master Mondatta had a power not unlike that of the famed Shimada clan.”

Akande grunted.

He’d heard of them, if only through the grapevine –Shimada Soujiro had grown to be a thorn in Overwatch’s side. His steel control over the local yakuza, and the trails that spread from Japan to other nations around the world made him an opponent to be wary about.

Overwatch barely cared about the family’s yakuza influence, and gave little credit to the voices of giant, roaring dragons made of light summoned to feast on the clan’s enemies… but if Overwatch was not interested, someone else surely was.

Though he could not speak to Ana about it, he’d seen some of the files his mentor had, documents that Akinjide hid from everyone but that hinted at the organization he was part of, which Akande still did not know anything about past their name –Talon.

Talon seemed to have a greater reach than Overwatch did, and though Akinjide kept his files with him and did not allow Akande more than a passing glance at them, Akande had his ways, and had seen a few of the folders, and had seen the Shimada clan mentioned in them.

If Talon knew of the clan, then they would of course turn their aims towards them –and what Talon wanted, Talon would get it; it did not matter if the Shimada clan could truly summon magical creatures or if it was a staged trick to scare the opposition, in the end. Akande’s informants had to work quietly so Akinjide wouldn’t find them, and they had mentioned that Talon had been silent, at least for now.

So, while the Shimada clan was a pawn that Akande could not discount from the chessboard, it had yet to make a proper move, or even show its interest outside of its tiny corner of the world, and until then overwatch would not lift a finger, so Akande could only wait.

As for Mondatta, the situation with Null Sector and his presumed powers… if he could not satisfy Ana’s doubts through words alone, maybe it was time to do something different.

“Perhaps,” he said, his smirk slow to appear, “we should truly arrange a meeting with the Shambali leader. What do you think?”

Startled, Ana looked up at him. “You wish to go yourself?”

“Of course. It would be good, to show the higher-ups that we take such matters seriously. I prefer to deal with things on my own, and the Shambali will have first-hand experience with Null Sector and their possible goals, and it would give us a better understanding of the situation.” He waited, watching Ana’s expression turn guarded, then he added “and I would not mind having you by my side. It would be a show of good will, to have a famous member of the Overwatch team reaching out.”

“Then you’d have to ask someone far better known than a mere sniper, Akande.” Despite her curt words, she was smirking at him. “Why not ask Reinhardt, if Jack is too busy?”

Akande thought about Reinhardt, the way his presence seemed to make every room smaller yet cheerier, his lack of diplomacy clashing with his friendly, warm attitude, and then nodded. “That seems amenable.”

Ana hummed, pleased at that. “Then I will join, as well.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

***

Mondatta, Akande thought as he stared at the calm, motionless faceplate of the head of the Shambali, was born to be a leader.

His stance was impeccable, hands behind his back, shoulders squared, head held high to show he feared nothing –to show he had nothing to hide, as well. His clothes pristine, the metal of his body without scratches or scrapes, his forehead array lit.

“I was waiting for you,” he said, and even in person his voice spoke of confidence and tranquillity, yet behind the façade, Akande could feel a steely determination, and power.

This omnic made his prosthetic fingers tingle with the kind of premonition he’d learned to listen to through years of rigorous training –the danger that this omnic radiated… and yet, all of it was perfectly under control, tamed and at ease.

“Akande Ogundimu, current head commander of the tactical division of Overwatch.” He nodded his head in greeting, pleased when Mondatta nodded his own back at him. “These are my companions, whose names perhaps precede them where mine does not.”

“Oh, you charmer,” Ana murmured, both voice and words far too honeyed to be honest as she turned around towards Mondatta. “I am Ana Amari.”

“And I,” Reinhardt rose one thumb to point at himself, boisterous and happy and proud, “am Reinhardt, at your service!”

And just like that, the stuffy, tense air seemed to break as Reinhardt stepped forwards, away from his companions and advancing towards Mondatta with such an open, eager face that even with his size, Mondatta did not appear startled or intimidated. There was far too much warmth and care in a man like Reinhardt to scare anyone outside of a battlefield.

“I am a great fan,” Reinhardt stated, voice almost hushed as he towered over Mondatta, his smile big enough to coax one back from the omnic. “I know I smash a lot with my hammer, and I tend to rush into battle without thinking, but I have a lot of respect for a man, or an omnic, who can stand against danger and refuse violence. If there were more like you, we would have had less to fight, and more to celebrate, I say!”

Mondatta seemed startled at Reinhardt’s words, and Akande observed him quietly as he stood straight and looked right up at Reinhardt’s face, forehead array bright. “And I must thank you for allowing those like me to have a future, after the war,” he said back, his tone much quieter compared to Reinhardt’s, but just as honest. “That you could hold no animosity towards us, after you fought against my kind for so long, speaks of your integrity. You are welcome here, mister Reinhardt… and so are you both, as well. Mister Ogundimu, miss Amari.” Mondatta turned towards them, his hand moving to encompass the monastery behind him. “We do not have much, but all we have is at your disposal for the duration of your stay here.”

It wasn’t hard to see that Reinhardt, with his appeal, had caught Mondatta’s approval, if only for his honest, open words.

In truth, even Akande, who was used to underhanded means to have what he wanted, could respect a man like Reinhardt, and the strength he possessed. A legend as a fighter, part of the Crusaders before he’d even been a hero for Overwatch, Reinhardt was a kind man. Easily swayed, and perhaps far too easy to fool… but loyal, and determined, and ready to work to make things better.

Akande respected him, and a part of him he wished to not acknowledge could even say he admired the man… just a little.

It would not do to ruin his image in such a way, when Reinhardt beating him at a drinking contest already did the job by itself.

As Mondatta led them through the monastery corridors, the walls cold and dark, Akande continued to observe Mondatta from afar, listening as he answered all of Reinhardt’s questions about the monastery and its inhabitants.

He could hear no malice in Mondatta’s words, nor could he detect lies –but Akande was a businessman, and he knew there were many ways to keep secrets without having to lie about them.

After all, with the higherups covering his secret training under Akinjide with the goal of capturing the man, Akande had to redirect a lot, even with the people he interacted with and those he was friends with.

“We do not have many visits, despite our growing… popularity, so to speak,” Mondatta was saying, much to Reinhardt’s displeasure. “The trip to our monastery is rather difficult, and the area is not safe to reach through jets or helicopters. There have been quite a few ravines just this past winter, and the roads become harsh when it snows. It is possible that come spring, more will come to seek counsel or support, or to pledge themselves to our cause.”

“We had no problem with the ORCA,” Akande interjected, keeping his tone polite so not to come off as challenging.

“That is true, but Overwatch’s tech is far superior to that of the common man,” Mondatta replied easily, “Not to mention that, despite the locals allowing us to reside here, we are still under Nepalese law, and the strict regulations and permits needed to fly a jet or a similar vehicle up here are not easy to obtain.”

“Do you not get… reckless visitors, then?” Ana spoke next, managing to sound simply curious, rather than demanding.

“Of course not… or rather, sometimes we do. We must send them back, unless they can provide a reasonable excuse for their breech of law. As we have our hands tied, it would not do to antagonize those in power who could just as easily chase us away. We are here due to the government’s kindness.”

Akande could understand the precarious situation –Mondatta worked without break to make sure that they could continue to exist and live within this previously abandoned monastery, but all it would take for them to lose it would be a single person in the Nepalese government who disliked omnics, or thought their doings were getting too politically uncomfortable.

“Fortunately,” Mondatta continued, his tone shifting to something a little more amused, even playful, “we have some leeway. Our mission is enough to catch the interest of the public, and with their favour, we risk far less. They would turn against the government quickly enough, were they take steps against us, and with the open encouragement of the Dalai Lama and his own supporters, we fear less whatever repercussions we could suffer.”

“True,” Ana replied, smooth and amused, and her next words were teasing, but not the kind she did for show. “Public favour helped us get through a lot of difficult situations. Isn’t that true, Reinhardt?”

The sheepish look he sent her, shoulders hunched up in embarrassment and his awkward, stilted chuckle were all the answers they needed.

That evening, sitting in front of a good meal provided for them by one of the omnic cooks, they continued their discussion, somewhat less tense than before, even if Akande knew Ana was still uncertain about the truth of the monastery and its inhabitants.

“It is amusing to see the kitchens are still functional,” she spoke, politely picking at her steamed vegetables. “You mentioned there are very few visitors.”

“That is true, but the village at the base of the mountain is close enough for them to come by often, and that includes their kids, who are more than happy to study alongside the rest of us –and a relief for their parents, for if the kids spend meal times at the monastery at least a few times a week, it lessens their expenses quite a lot… and we do grow our own produce.”

Mondatta, obviously, was not eating –but he sat with them at the table nonetheless, amused when Ana lifted her eyebrows in askance.

“Indeed. It is a practice we learned early on in our stay here. We get a minimal revenue by selling some of the vegetables to the nearby villages, or exchange it for help for things we cannot do –we are not well versed with keeping such a huge place functional, or it could happen we need some… replacements.”

Akande noticed the way his left hand twitched whenever Mondatta was not holding something, and he recalled that the omnic had been harmed a few months prior.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Ana, sensing an opening she could exploit, beat him to it. “It seems the opportunity for specific parts is quite rare –but if you have trouble yourself, Akande here has a prosthetic company, and he is rather skilled. Would you allow him to take a look at your hand?”

Mondatta visibly hesitated, glancing between Akande and Ana. “It is alright if you prefer not to,” he said, in lieu of answering, “it would be a bother, considering you came here for something more important than that.”

That seemed to attract Ana’s focus. “Oh?”

Mondatta exhaled softly, intertwining his hands in front of him on the table. “I am not a fool, Captain Amari. Nor am I deluded enough to think you are here to offer your aid. The Shambali are rather new, and we are growing in numbers and experiencing a bout of popularity, enough that many Nations are decidedly wary towards us –Nepal itself included, as it is. Do you think you were the first ones to come here, seeking to learn whether we are truly as we say, or a mere sockpuppet front ready to take over the world?” Ana had nothing to say to that. “It might be surprising to hear, or perhaps you were already aware and this visit is only a follow-up in the hopes that your names will force us to make a faux pas, or a mistake… but you are not the first envoy Overwatch has sent to us.”

Akande, Ana and Reinhardt froze at that, the latter with a chunk of bread and eggroll bulging from his cheek.

That –was something neither of them had known.

Nor was it in any of the files and documents in their database.

All three were perfectly aware that Mondatta had noticed the pause, but they refused to acknowledge it, not until they were alone, so rather than address this, Ana cleared her throat.

“It is true. We hold doubts over your work as a pacifist,” she said, ignoring Reinhardt’s heartfelt “I do _not_!” “But we are not here for that. As far as the world knows, you are keeping this persona, and have done nothing to disprove it. Unless we catch you in an act of different nature, we have our hands tied. That, of course, does not mean we won’t keep tabs on you, but for now… your story is stable, and we have no reason to antagonize you.”

Mondatta, ever calm and sedate, nodded at her. “You are of course aware that some of the Shambali do not strictly believe in keeping our heads down against any and all danger, am I right?” At Ana’s terse nod, he hummed. “It is frightening for some, to face possible threats and violence without protecting themselves or retaliating. I will not force my fellow omnics to be destroyed simply because I refuse to raise my hand against them. It is possible many Shambali will decide to defend themselves if needed –and I, myself, am aware that there might be times I will have to face a similar choice. Many will attempt to run or simply protect ourselves or others or call for help, but some will act to ensure their continued existence, and they will have my support for this endeavour. I do not wish my people to face a slaughter out of misperceived ideals of complete and utter avoidance of violence. But I can, and will, promise you that not a single one of the Shambali will raise a hand against a human, or a fellow omnic, with desire to harm. If one such thing happens, it will not be under the name of the Shambali.”

Ana blinked, regarding Mondatta for a few seconds.

“I will take your word on it,” she finally said, nodding sharply at him, and Akande thought that perhaps she had been convinced.

Mondatta’s forehead array flashed in a smile. “So what do you need from the Shambali, agents of Overwatch?”

Akande leaned on the table, pushing his empty plate away and intertwining his fingers in front of his face. Time to drop all pretenses. “We want to know about Null Sector.”

Mondatta’s demeanour seemed to shift, then –he hunched backwards a bit, his body language showing surprise but also something else that Akande could not read. “That… I can help you with that.” He exhaled an artificial breath, and seemed for a moment smaller, hunched on himself. “For my own student has been approached by them, and has expressed to me his desire to join their cause.”

It was obvious, simply by the way Mondatta looked now, that he did not approve –that he was worried, and bitter, and hurt, and all of this Akande could read in his body language, in his faceplate tilted downwards, easily enough he wondered how omnics could appear so cold and unfeeling to many.

He cleared his throat. “You do not approve.”

“… I fear it is partly my fault.” Mondatta deflected, fingers twitching. “He feels my insistence on not fighting back only invites more to act against me, and considers a defensive resistance better suited for us, rather than a completely passive stance. It is why I have made sure to let others know that they are allowed to protect themselves, in case of an assault. But…”

“But you are in the spotlight more than any singular member of your group,” Akande completed the thought, tone even and unshaken. “You do not wish to give your opponents a leeway, because you know they are sharks, and they consider you a prey. If you defend yourself, your actions will be publicly discredited, and they will use that to tear the Shambali down.”

“… indeed.”

“You are trapped, like this.” Akande was not one to censor himself, and his words came out cutting, but not unkind. “One day, someone will damage you more than you can fix,” he glanced down at Mondatta’s hand, still minutely shaking, before looking back into his optical receptors, “and if it happens too soon, your entire movement will be doomed. If it happens too soon…”

“If it happens…” and Mondatta’s ‘if’ sounded more like a ‘when’ in Akande’s mind, “it will be the will of the Iris.” He straightened his back, and Akande blinked as the same strength he’d felt from Mondatta earlier today flooded back in, making him look almost regal, imposing and steady like a rock, ready to weather whatever the elements could throw his way. “It is the path I chose to follow, and I will not back down. I will see my people filled with hope, and that will be enough.”

Akande’s respect for the omnic grew, just a little, even if part of him couldn’t help but disapprove of his stance. Had it been him…

But Mondatta was not Akande Ogundimu, and it was clear they were standing on opposite pillars, at least when it came to their beliefs.

“What about your student?” he asked.

“Zenyatta is young,” and Mondatta’s tone softened with the mention of his student’s name, such a contrast with Akande’s own teacher and his methods. “He has learned early on that life is not fair, the hatred scorching and leaving behind scars that became part of him. He wishes to protect me, to spread our message without having to sacrifice ourselves to the cause. I hoped allowing him some freedom would let him find himself, but… Null Sector has compelling arguments, for those like him who were abandoned and betrayed.”

Akande’s next words surprised both him and Mondatta. “Would he betray your teachings in spite of the bond you share?”

The chuckle that left Mondatta’s synth was surprising, though it lacked mirth. “Zenyatta will stray from me, but only because he is learning still, and I cannot teach him everything myself. Null Sector wishes for omnics to have the same rights as humans, as we Shambali do, but their methods are more direct, and less passive –and that appeals to his desire for confrontation, feeding the coals that still burn within him. I believe in my student, mister Ogundimu, and I know he has not abandoned me yet. Even if he follows a path far from me, he will never go where I cannot reach him. But there is something only the two of us share, and as long as that connection lasts, he is not lost to me.”

He lifted his right hand in front of himself, fingers splayed apart, and Akande’s attention moved to his palm, wondering what he was doing. Reinhardt, who had remained silent until then, seemed just as intrigued, and Ana narrowed her eyes.

The sudden burst of light that blossomed within Mondatta’s open palm sent both Akande and Ana reeling back, while Reinhardt, impressed but not shocked, leaned closer, eyes wide to take in as much of the light as he could.

Akande could not look away.

The light was warm, compelling, in a way he could not explain, like a heat that spread through him gently, soothing fatigue he hadn’t even known he had until it was gone, leaving him feeling weirdly rested.

By the look on Ana and Reinhardt’s faces, they shared that instant fascination.

Mondatta nodded to himself, and closed his palm, abruptly cutting off the flow of warmth, and even though the candles and the lights of the dining room were just as bright as before, Akande felt as if the room was dimmer than before.

“What…”

“Rumours have the nasty habit to grow exponentially worse as they travel from mouth to mouth, like an arrow shot into the sky,” Mondatta murmured, composed and perfectly calm in the face of their shock. “Of course, assuaging some of your fears might do me a favour, considering I do not sense deceit from you.” There was something amiss to his tone, and it took Akande only a moment to understand what he meant –what Mondatta had said with his omission.

He could not sense deceit from them –which meant he could, on occasion, sense emotions from others… and had perhaps felt something unpleasant during the last meeting with Overwatch.

If this was this omnic’s way of extending an olive branch, well… perhaps Akande could find a loose alliance was not as impossible as he’d thought.

And if that aided him in his pursue of whatever conspiracy Overwatch was nursing within its bosom, like a viper ready to strike, that would only be a boon.


	6. 05

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the minor character death tag is for this chapter :>

**05**

Akinjide’s voice, once, had been powerful.

A man of action first, he carried himself with a stance that spoke of superiority, of absolute confidence, and with the doomfist and his skills, his brawl, his experience, the Scourge of Numbani had every right to think himself strong.

His tone had always been boisterous, loud and aggressive, it carried far, spoke of him –it conveyed how big he thought himself to be, how far he would take things. Ruthless, scheming, bigger than life itself.

No more.

Now, it was reduced to nothing –a cough, a rasp, gurgled wheeze, a line of blood that dribbled down his chin as his chest frantically tried to rise in a breath, weaker with each passing second.

“Ah–”

“I suggest you not to speak.” Akande took a step back, impassive as Akinjide crumpled and fell on the ground, wheezing as more blood gushed out of his mouth, staining his front red. “It will only hurt more.”

He supposed he should feel something –he had spent _years_ with this man, learning from him, training under him, observing him, taking part in some of his raids on a low profile… in a way, they had been close.

Of course, his presence by Akinjide’s side had been supported by Overwatch since the very start, the organization’s leaders receiving all the information Akande could pass on to them; Jack had been opposed, of course –it put Akande in danger, and he’d been with overwatch for less than a few months when Akinjide had contacted him the first time, and it meant splitting his focus and attention in a way that allowed him far less freedom… but Akande had been confident he could do it, and he’d been right.

There was much he’d learned from Akinjide, and all of it had benefited Overwatch greatly, and for those years, he had not been found out.

Now, Akande stood there, watching his former mentor slowly die, and…

Akande had expected to feel grief, perhaps, or guilt –or, in the worst case, the kind he wondered about in the darkest hours of the night when he couldn’t sleep, hands clenching into fists in front of his eyes… glee, and exhilaration.

After all, he’d never taken a life before. Not once, not even by mistake. He’d been careful about that –Akande was a fighter, but unlike Akinjide himself, he was no killer. At least not until now. He had wondered how it’d feel, once it happened –for under Akinjide’s mentorship, death was a given, and Akande knew it was only a matter of time until things ended with blood on his hands, orchestrated by his own mentor to advance him further.

He’d wondered so much… and now…

There was none of that.

He felt almost dull –a vague ache somewhere in the depths of his chest that had nothing to do with the bruises and wounds he’d suffered from his fight with Akinjide, but something deeper yet shallower at the same time.

Akande swallowed thickly, his mouth dry. He wanted to turn around, but he felt compelled to watch nonetheless, the last instants of this man who had wanted to be something so much.

This was _his_ fault –his doing.

He started right into Akinjide’s eyes, past the pain, as he slowly choked to death, his throat crushed.

It had been a mistake –a careless reaction. Akande hadn’t known the true strength of the doomfist until he had donned it himself, stealing it from Akinjide’s grip in order to best the man. Lashing out, expecting power, yes, but not like this.

Akande looked into his mentor’s eyes, expecting rage, and anger, and betrayal, and instead he found something else staring back at him.

“You are smirking.” Akande leaned forwards despite himself. “This was not planned, but you are smirking.”

Akinjide’s lips twitched upwards at that.

Whatever thoughts he had were destined not to be shared –with a crushed throat, he could not speak, but he was still smirking, almost proudly, and he tapped two fingers against his chest, his hand shaking.

Yet, Akande could still make an educated guess, his mind sharp and empty, adrenaline making his fingers twitch.

“Allow me to disabuse you of whatever assumptions you have,” Akande spoke again, even as Akinjide’s eyes fluttered close. “I will not be your successor. I will take this, and carve my own path forwards –but it will not be as a Talon lackey.”

Akinjide’s smirk grew further, and his lips slowly moved. Akande watched him, frowning, unable to read on them what Akinjide wanted to say.

The man had been so proud, and Akande had, in a way, expected that in defeat… in death… he would look beaten. He did not. He looked victorious, wheezing as he was, and his eyes, barely open as they were, never left Akande’s face, like he was waiting for something more from him. Knowing Akande had more to say.

His next words came out of him unprompted, and he had not even thought about speaking them out loud until he did.

“You have not died for nothing.”

Akinjide stilled, eyes fluttering open in a fight he would soon lose.

“You have taught me much –even things you did not expect I would pick up from you. You were a terrorist, and a Scourge, and many have ended up hating you.” The grin only grew at this, proud and unrepentant. “Was that why you did it? To be remembered?”

Akinjide did not answer.

Akande swallowed, shaking his head. He wanted to know so much from him, but now the time had run out. He would get no more out of him. No teachings, no knowledge, no information… nothing. His hand was shaking, and the hand within the doomfist was not shaking only because the weapon was too heavy, and his muscles strained.

This was a man who had, unwittingly, been a mentor to him, and Akande still did not know why he’d done so, knowing how stubborn, how unwilling to be a goon Akande was.

What had Akinjide seen in him that had caused him to take him under his wing like this?

He would never know.

For a long moment, he hesitated, then…

“ _I_ will remember.”

And though he knew this was exactly what Akinjide wanted –less than what he had hoped for himself, but at this point, nothing more than he deserved, either– Akande could not deny the man the truth of it.

What Akinjide had taught him –perhaps, had he reached out first, Akande would have been more receptive, appreciating the offer, becoming the right successor to the Scourge –creating a maelstrom that could take over the world.

He had arrived second, and that had made all the difference.

Death arrived to take Akinjide’s heart-soul away, leaving Akinjide’s empty body behind, the look on his face just as wild as he had been in life, yet satisfied, and at peace, and Akande watched the last of his warmth disappear with an empty, upset look.

Later, he would provide for his mentor –have him cleaned and dressed and laid to rest, as his customs dictated, before the funeral… but not now.

“Thank you.” Slowly, he lifted his arm, straining as the doomfist interfaced with the augmentations on his back, adapting, shaping itself around his own fist. “You have aided Overwatch greatly.”

The words fell flat, yet rang true nonetheless.

That was a truth he had decided to withhold, but it was Akande’s truth –not Akinjide’s.

And now, with Akinjide’s death, Akande’s purpose would shift again, towards something he’d been making preparations for. Something Akinjide owned which would aid him.

Akande turned around, his back to the dead, and walked out of the training room. He knew Akinjide always carried with him files on a micro-USB around his neck, disguised as a ritual pendant in the shape of a claw, but he had not worn it during their spar, which meant he’d left it behind somewhere, and he had to find it. He had little time –the building would not be empty much longer, and he needed to make sure he had everything before cleaning things up.

Little time before Overwatch came, only to find Akinjide dead, not captive.

The pendant was tucked away in the pocket of Akinjide’s jacket, and he inserted it into his holo-tablet right away, not wishing to hunt down for a computer. There was no protection –Akinjide had always trusted himself more than he should have– but it helped Akande now as he checked the files quickly, skimming through for what he needed.

There was so much in the micro-USB –folder after folder on personal files of people Akande had never heard about, and some that were familiar instead, but the interesting part was that there was more than just members of Overwatch, as he had expected.

Many files were on fellow Talon members, detailing their private lives, information that had to have been gathered through less-than-legal means over a long time. Akande had no idea what Akinjide had wished to do with these, had barely thought the man capable of a long-term con, but he was grateful for it now.

Keeping an eye on the clock, Akande continued to work his way through the documents, some of which seemed to link to things not present in the micro-USB. If Akinjide had them elsewhere, they would soon be gone, and he would have to do without.

At last, Akande found what he wanted –in a folder hidden from view, details about many Overwatch missions dating back to the past year and a half, with the latest a mission mentioned planned to start a week from then.

Missions that had been thought fool-proof, yet had failed without explanation. Missions that had caused casualties, wounded, incapacitated agents banned from active duty.

Akande had thought someone had leaked the information, but his superiors had brushed the notion off, for there had been no proof.

Now, Akande felt vindicated –he had been right.

The proof of moles in Overwatch stared back at him on the translucent screen in front of him, and he frowned, staring at the information, considering what to do.

It was clear that Overwatch was slowly rotting from the inside, even if the spots were small, and easy to miss… but with time, they would grow, and spoil the organization until nothing was left.

Talon had power, had the reach, and clearly could spread within Overwatch itself. A kind of power that made it the more enticing.

Akinjide had been one of Talon’s leaders, and had introduced Akande early on, proud when they’d taken interest in him –but not stupid. Akande had been Akinjide’s personal project, his pet, his student… not Talon’s. Talon had no grasp on him yet, but all this information, all the data, the details, the documents that Akande was looking at were about its reach, about Akinjide’s own plans and how they intersected with Talon’s activity.

With these files, with the doomfist in his hand… now, Akande had enough information to truly make a choice.

The legacy of the Scourge of Numbani would not bring the world down into chaos, following a path made of blood and despair.

If change had to come, Akande wanted it to be something different –yet, he still wished to be at its centre, its cause, the eye of the storm.

Whether he did it with one side or the other, that was irrelevant, as long as he guided the tides himself.

Talon was greedy, demanding, and Akande respected that –but it was not enough for him.

Overwatch was strict, and flawed –but fair. And Akande could see a challenge in it, turn that organization into something big enough to truly contest Talon and its reach.

But not even Overwatch could own him. Not if Akande did not want it to.

Standing on top, Akande could make sure he did not have to follow rules that could stifle him, but dictate the rules himself, no more a paw but the puppeteer.

And by what he knew now, eyes moving from file to file, Overwatch had a great need for someone competent to take the lead.

Slowly, methodically, Akande closed the files and slipped the secret micro-USB around his neck.

No one would think much of a memento of his poor, dead mentor, after all.


	7. 06

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> winston time!!!! :D :D :D :D
> 
> can i say i believe winston and akande would be actually good friends, if canon had allowed them to? yes?

**06**

In the wake of the Australian Omnium explosion, that had razed to the ground most of the outback and caused impossible devastation, the upheaval of the Lunar Colony and the subsequent death of all humans at the space station almost went unnoticed.

Most of the international news channels covered the disaster nonetheless, but the sudden pushback against anti-omnic sentiments for once had a greater impact on the population, and Akande could see that the tides were changing direction again.

He was not sure whether that would be good or not, overall –it was not surprising a lot of people considered the nuclear explosion a fault of the ALF, but there were always some who excused even such destructive response, based on the emotional distress those humans had felt when they’d been evicted from their houses to make way to omnics.

Akande had to snort at that –the Australian government had thoughtlessly acted without considering the impact of their own decisions, and in the end the lives of civilians, omnics or humans, had been on the line.

Those deaths, the destruction of an entire ecosystem… Akande could understand how such an action had impacted people worldwide, pushing them either further down their path of hatred, or directly into the arms of the Shambali, strengthening their position about peaceful integration and equality.

The former, though, was what Akande focused on the most, as those would be the ones Overwatch would have to face as well, at some point.

So, with the news suddenly focused on what would become of Australia and Mondatta stepping up to appear more often on the news giving speeches, and the Shambali slowly spreading their message and gaining supporters, the landing of a small, battered pod in front of the Gibraltar base had been almost ignored.

Almost.

The giant, intelligent gorilla stumbling out of it, woozy from the trip down and the change in atmosphere and temperature, would have gotten far more coverage, had it happened at any other time, bringing with him tales of a revolt, of angry specimens tricking the humans to their deaths, and his subsequent escape, in the hope that on Earth he would find a better life, calling himself with the name of one of the dead scientists in a surprisingly human gesture of respect.

Overwatch had kept the news down, as much as they could, only revealing the gorilla’s presence to the UN, who had allowed Overwatch to oversee his stay, rather than demand him to be sent and tested and examined to determine the depths of his intelligence or use him as a weapon.

Despite the operation having been financed by the Lucheng Interstellar, they had quickly relinquished Winston the gorilla to Overwatch, appeased by the promise of a collaboration between the two groups so the Chinese space exploration company could assess and keep an eye on Winston’s health and growth back on Earth now that the mission had, unfortunately, been forced to an end.

After a few tense weeks, Winston had been welcomed into Overwatch a standby agent, monitored for possible faults of his metabolism, and had adapted flawlessly to life on Earth, though at times, Akande knew, he still appeared a little homesick.

Such as it was now, with Winston sitting on the rooftop of one of the buildings at Gibraltar, looking forlornly up at the dark evening sky, dipping his fingers into a jar of peanut butter.

In a way, Akande could understand –it felt like his own life had been nothing but abandoning the familiar to jump into the unknown, but of course, all of it paled when compared to a space, talking gorilla who had been forced to leave his only home and travel to a different planet to have a new life. Yet, Akande could sympathize.

“The doctors were looking for you.”

Startled, Winston turned around, hastily removing his fingers from his mouth with a sloppy, wet sound. “Ah, wha– oh, it’s, uh, it’s you.”

Akande stared up at him, considering the height of the wall in front of him for a moment before digging his prosthetic fingers into it to hoist himself up, inch by inch, until he reached the top, a giant hand hesitating before coming to help him get through the last few inches.

“Were you expecting someone else?” he asked mildly.

“Uh, no. I mean, I know Angela was searching for me but she… well, they, none of them, they never seem to know where I go.”

“One would think a giant gorilla would be easy to find in a base covered with cameras.”

The loud, explosive guffaw startled Akande only a bit, as he’d grown used to Winston’s expressiveness. In a way, his open show of emotions was similar to that of omnics, as neither were able to emote as humans would, and had to compensate in other ways, through voice tone and body language.

“Ah now that’s true. I guess it’s hard to, you know, check everywhere at once. I did, uh, consider the idea of having a single entity control the cameras,” Winston hummed, rubbing the edge of the peanut butter jar with his fingers, sounding excited as he shared his thoughts with Akande. “I know in some places there’s a, you know, an omnic in charge, but we’d need something more… mobile, since the base is enormous.”

Akande sat down by Winston’s side.

He had not tracked him down for this purpose, but mostly because the doctors needed to prescribe him more stabilizers and vitamins to counter the increased toll Earth’s gravity seemed to have on his muscle density, but he thought they could wait just a little longer –this idea had some merit.

Winston’s intelligence had been tested since his arrival on Earth, but he kept shining, and Akande could easily see that had someone else found him, rather than Overwatch, it would have been easy to take use of his ingenious ways of thinking outside a box.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Ah, uh, an artificial intelligence. Residing directly into the mainframe of the base –and perhaps connected to the ORCA and the other vehicles, in order to always have a direct line back to base to avoid, well. Misunderstandings?” Winston scratched his chin, sounding almost awkward, but Akande understood perfectly –Winston had noticed as well that there were many times where files got lost, or missions went awry due to missing information. Despite all his attempts to find out who the mole was that kept messing with the organization, Akande had yet to find a definite lead. Akande had no intention of telling Winston that the cause could very well be a sabotage, as he had no idea if Winston could be trusted fully with this kind of information, but he suspected Winston, despite his reservations, was already suspicious. “I’m just, uh. Not sure I would be allowed to tinker with the protections around the base to figure out how to protect it. You know, clearance.”

The smirk grew on Akande’s lips on its own, amusement pooling into his stomach like a growing promise. “Oh, feel free to.”

“I, uh. What?” jaw slack, Winston looked at him in shock.

“Go ahead and give it a try. You have my authorization. That should be enough until you have it all worked out, then we could attempt to employ it for a period and see if it works better.”

Akande was, honestly, doing it for his own benefit –if the base was better protected against external and internal intrusions, it would be easier to pinpoint from where those interferences were coming from and track them down to their source… but the way Winston’s expression cleared and brightened, lips stretched into an approximation of a human smile, wide and content, was enough to let him know that he’d done the right thing, nonetheless.

“Thank you, mister Ogundimu!”

It was like some feral energy had energized Winston, enough that he bounced up on his feet, fumbling with the peanut butter jar until he managed to seal it close, absently licking a trickle from its side, animalesque yet entirely too human for someone who was anything but.

Akande glanced upwards at the sky, no moon in sight, and exhaled quietly.

It seemed like having a purpose that wasn’t simply being poked for experimentation would do Winston good –and allowing him this kind of trust only a month after his arrival would cement his loyalty, as well.

And if that loyalty was partly to Akande out of thankfulness… Akande never said no to more people in his corner, if he wanted to keep climbing.

“Akande,” he said, and the smile on his lips had no need to be faked. “You’re among friends here, Winston –if I am still allowed to call you such. I _did_ hear you were applying for a doctorate.”

“Oh, you, ah, you heard of that?” bashful, Winston scratched the back of his head, obviously embarrassed but pleased. “Lena suggested I try. She has been supportive, really.”

Akande’s eyebrows shot up at that.

He’d not expected Lena to strike such surprising friendship with Winston, but he had to give it to the cadet –she was a friendly sort, and rather skilled at what she did, if a little bit too gullible. But definitely suited for the job.

“Well, I should probably get used to calling you a doctor, then.” Akande stood back up, stretching his back, and watched Winston fumble with himself again, the nervous energy still surrounding him like a blanket. “You should go, now. Find Angela before she uses her tech to fly around the base for you. I would not wait for that, you know how intense she can get.”

Winston visibly jumped at that, having been subject to Angela’s caffeinated moods in the past. “Well… uh. I have. I have a question for you, first.”

Akande lifted one eyebrow, “Yes, Winston?”

“If… hypothetically speaking, of course–” Winston’s shoulders hitched up a little “if I had… a prototype for, well, for the AI I wanted to test on the base…”

“Hypothetically speaking,” Akande agreed, surprised but not shocked. He knew Winston could work fast, but he had no idea he could keep such a thing secret for so long, only coming out with it due to Akande’s words of support.

“Yes. Strictly hypothetically. Would… would you like to, uh… meet with her?” the last question came out of him in a rush, anticipation and embarrassment and worry visible in the way he inched away from him, even with his eyes wide behind his glasses, awaiting Akande’s answer.

“If such a thing was possible,” Akande said, unable to hide his mirth, “I would.”

Winston glanced around, as if expecting Angela to appear, floating in mid-air with her mech wings ready to tear him apart for disappearing, then instead of showing Akande something physical, he cleared his throat. “Protocol 058-ATHE. Activate.”

“Protocol 058-ATHE, Activated.” A feminine, professional voice answered back, coming from Winston’s belt pouch, which he always wore to carry food around the base. “Winston, where am I?”

Hurrying to take out from one of the pouches a slim tablet, Winston curled his upper lip. “The roof of the base, Athena.”

“Please specify the coordinates.”

“Ah, it’s–” much to Akande’s surprise, Winston recited neatly the coordinates, and there was a soft, buzzing sound.

“Coordinates received and recorded. It is almost nine pm, sharp, the temperature is sixteen degrees Celsius, or sixty point eight degrees Fahrenheit.” A beat. “There is no moon tonight, Winston. Why are you here?”

Akande was definitely impressed. The AI seemed connected with a cloud service, able to interface with internet on its… her own. She also had enough processes not only to talk back and interact with Winston, but to also know about previous interactions with him –interactions Akande had not been privy to– that related to Winston’s habits.

It spoke of a work in progress that had happened over the course of more than just a few weeks.

“I was just… thinking, Athena.”

“Talking is preferable,” she replied instantly, furthering Akande’s suspicions about the advancement of her AI software. “And I am always with you.”

“That’s… true. Yes. But. Uh, Athena, I wanted you to meet–” Winston glanced at Akande, hesitating for a moment before continuing “–a friend.”

There was a sudden, buzzing sound from the tablet. “You have finally decided to reveal my existence to someone? Is it Lena?”

“No. It’s. Akande Ogundimu, my direct superior. Akande, this is… this is Athena.” Winston straightened his back, sounding and looking proud, even in the face of his awkwardness.

Akande blinked down at the table. “Pleased to meet you, Athena.”

It seemed like the right thing to say, because Athena’s voice echoed him with a greeting of her own, even sounding amused as she spoke. “The pleasure is all mine. I am glad I might be able to have a different conversation partner to further my progresses. Winston is far too hesitant to allow me to interact with other tech.”

“I couldn’t see why,” Akande murmured.

Her diction, her speech pattern, the way she seemed to emote –Winston had created this AI, allowing it to be self-learning, and without any input from other scientists on base, the fact was astounding.

“Athena,” he spoke next, making Winston jump. “Are you aware of the purpose of your creation?”

“Winston created me to protect the Gibraltar base.”

Akande hummed to let the AI know he’d heard her. He wondered if she would be able to have a freer range of emotion, were she to connect with the base’s software.

“And keep him company,” Athena added after a pause, giggling realistically when Winston fumbled with his tablet, making Akande wonder if Winston was wearing other tech that was connected to the tablet, allowing Athena to read his vitals, as the chuckle from the AI sounded far too dependant to his reactions to her words. “It is one of my duties to learn about all agents of Overwatch, as one of my base programs is to keep you safe.”

“Do you think Winston… and the base… would benefit of your presence added to the mainframe of the base’s defenses?”

“Uncertain.” Athena cleared her digital throat. “I can only infer, based on my current skills, data analysis, and authorizations, that I would not be detrimental, but as I have not been tested with the actual defense mechanisms and firewall protocols, I do not have enough information to answer this question successfully.”

Winston seemed frozen, but Akande made sure not to look at him as he considered the situation. “How soon would you be able to give me a more satisfactory answer, if I were to allow you to connect with it for a trial test?”

“I would need to run a few simulations, perhaps with outside help, for various situations that could endanger the base’s structural and digital integrity and implement a self-upgrading interface, but it should not take longer than a week. I could also set aside a percentage of functionality set specifically to decipher where the leak of information comes from, and how to prevent it.”

“What are the chances of success of that?”

“Uncertain. I am not all-purpose, and my own capabilities cannot exceed the support data Winston feeds me, but as I mentioned, one of the options is a self-upgrading feature, which would allow me to synch and connect with other AI and firewalls to learn and grow from them. Experienced hackers could still bypass my systems, but I would grow from each attempt –and no kind of defense is infallible.”

“And of course, we currently have suboptimal ones, so any change would be better. Besides… you are an incognita, and that could be what we need.” Akande’s lips stretched into a wide, pleased smile. “Winston.” Winston, startled to be dragged into the conversation, turned to stare at him. “You have my permission to connect… Athena… to the base’s interface system. Do not advertise her presence, we need to be subtle.”

“Ah… yes. The, uh, the missed data, the incorrect information fed to our agents, the camera glitches…” Akande’s nostrils flared. It seemed like Winston knew more than he did about the security breech. “I would, uh. Not mention anything. Though I do not think miss Amari or Lena have anything to do with it. Or, you know, Jesse.”

Akande blinked at the sudden confidence, and laughed, shaking his head. “I do not have any suspicion towards them. But we do not know who it is, so we will have to keep this strictly between us until Athena finds something.”

“Your confidence in my abilities surprises me, Commander Akande.”

“I trust Winston’s abilities,” he corrected. “I will await to see your own skills before judging your abilities.”

Winston straightened his back, just a bit, at the off-handed praise. “I will… I will not disappoint you, Akande.”

“Good to know. Now you should really go, else Angela really decides to–”

“Winston!”

They both froze at the familiar voice coming from the street below. Akande peeked from the edge of the building, and saw a familiar figure in the dark pass by the archway on the side of the building, the sound of her heels echoing in the silence.

“–come and get you,” Akande finished, smirk growing.

“Oh no,” Winston murmured, fretting. “Oh no.”

“Better go, then,” Akande smirked, sitting a little more comfortably on the edge of the building. “No time like the present.”

Winston, despite being an enormous gorilla who still needed to learn how to properly move at normal gravity, was also astonishingly quiet, when he wanted to be. He climbed down the building, grunting only when he landed on the street below, and with a parting wave, went the opposite way, hurrying to avoid Angela’s wrath.

Still sitting on the rooftop, Akande cracked his knuckles.

If Winston’s Athena needed external aid to test the barriers of the base, well… maybe he knew just the right person for that.

If he could get her to help.


	8. 07

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised... more zenyatta :)
> 
> also like in one of my past fics i've given name to the unnamed null sector omnic from the storm rising event, and he's Strix.

**07**

Zenyatta stared down at his hands, contemplating the new coating.

He did not feel different –and generally, he would look no different from before, except in colours… but he felt changed, and he was not sure he was comfortable with this change, at least not yet.

All it had taken was a spray coating on his body, and dye for his clothes, though most of the others refused to wear fabric to begin with, and that only set him further apart, even from his brothers and sisters who had abandoned the Shambali way to join Null Sector.

Just a spray job, and yet it felt like Zenyatta had set in stone his new path, and inside him, his circuits churned in unease, discord swelling inside his core like a foreboding cloud.

White faceplate and chassis instead of polished chrome metal, darker innermost circuits, with violet highlights over his pistons and a violet core –and his orbs had been repainted as well, from their original golden colour into a opaque black and purple, though his forehead array still shone teal. Even his pants were now violet, the sash he had wrapped around his waist black –the colours of Null Sector to replace the old him.

The only thing that missed was the Null Sector logo –Zenyatta did not feel comfortable wearing that, and he was not sure that would ever change.

Where before Tekhartha Zenyatta stood, now there was someone else with the same faceplate, yet radically different at the same time, an omnic who had renounced to his title, turned his back to the Shambali to follow a path that was more direct and less passive… and this Zenyatta wondered if he had made a mistake.

He did not feel like the Shambali were wrong –he just wished Mondatta took his own protection more seriously, renounced to the idea that deviating from his passive accepting everything others forced on him would cause others to attack him and his beliefs…

Because Zenyatta knew they would do it regardless.

Humans were… there were times when humans truly were heartless, and the way the population disrespected omnics and everything the Shambali stood for was a glaring example of that.

Zenyatta had learned much under Mondatta’s tutelage, had felt the blessing of Mondatta’s attention, of his teachings, had given the other omnic all of himself, knowing Mondatta could not return more than a quarter of that devotion, accepting this truth for what it was and his affection for the helpless dream it was, but…

But this. He could not share Mondatta’s views, the same way he could not simply bend over and allow humans to bring harm upon him or other omnics.

In this, he knew, Mondatta was wrong.

No matter what passive attitude he took in front of others, refusing to lower himself when they expected him to, watching for a weakness to exploit, Mondatta would never win without showing a stronger hand. Humans would still watch him like hawks, preying on every move Mondatta did, every decision he took, and they would spin it to their own amusement, to their own gain. If Mondatta allowed them to destroy him, they would, and Zenyatta…

He could not allow them to.

If Mondatta didn’t want to protect himself, didn’t want to acknowledge that he’d been forced into a corner where he could get abused and insulted without the freedom to defend himself, then Zenyatta would change himself, stepping out from the anonymity he so enjoyed, become a different kind of beacon –he would rally other omnics to defend themselves, not to the point of war but to the point of respect, and he would do it without using the name of the Shambali for this.

And then he would protect Mondatta and spread his message further, make sure Mondatta had the protection he deserved so his teachings could thrive.

Even if he had to be away from him for this.

Even if he had to don the colours of a group Mondatta despised.

“I see our colours look rather… dashing, on you.”

Zenyatta stiffened, and did not turn around.

He knew the voice well –the voice of one of the head commanders of Null Sector, an omnic shrouded in mystery, the one who was the driving force of their… group.

Strix.

He heard his footsteps, and forced himself to remain still, not wishing to show any weakness to this omnic.

Strix… Zenyatta did not trust him.

His views, his methods… they were violent, harsh, and held little respect for the life of humans. Zenyatta had appreciated the way Null Sector acted with humans, demanding the rights they were negated, putting a foot down to be heard and respected… but Strix pushed that behaviour further.

His raids, his rallies… he kept himself in the shadows, putting figureheads in his place to act like sockpuppets, and led Null Sector down a path of destruction that Zenyatta could not accept, or endorse.

There were limits to the kind of actions Null Sector could take, a fine line between enough and too much… and Strix strayed far too often past that line.

If there was one Zenyatta had no respect for, that would be this omnic… and at the same time, Zenyatta knew far too well that Strix could easily get rid of any omnic he did not wish to have around, as long as it meant he could meet his goals.

“Commander,” he murmured, keeping his head tilted to the side.

“How cold,” Strix hummed, stepping around Zenyatta to look at him from every angle. “I was simply paying a compliment to your new… appearance.”

The intensity of that stare sent a shiver of wariness down Zenyatta’s back, and he thanked his training with the Shambali that allowed him not to visibly shake under the scrutiny.

“It was simply a given I would… adhere to the requirements, as I’ve joined your ranks.”

“Hmm… and you look rather striking in our colours, yes.” Zenyatta did not reply to that, and continued to look to the side. “Though I would have expected your forehead array to be… red, perhaps… or golden. Any reason you have kept it to your original teal?” a pause, Strix’s tone shifting to something lower, not accusing but similar, “perhaps, as a last, sentimental connection to your past life?”

“I do not need to explain my choices,” Zenyatta replied, his own tone as neutral as he could make it be, “suffice to say my allegiance is not to the Shambali anymore. I have pledged myself to the Null Sector.”

“Is that so?” Strix stepped closer, towering on Zenyatta easily, his body bigger, stronger, buffer. “I would have preferred your allegiance to be more… personal, than simply to Null Sector. But,” he added, their faceplates inches apart, his crimson optics burning into Zenyatta’s ones, “I will take it… for now. There is quite enough time to convince you fully, after all. I did not expect pliant compliancy, after all.”

Zenyatta’s hands curled into fists. “Your cause does not need the weak willed,” he answered, with a little more fire than he’d meant to use.

“Exactly, my dear.”

It was jarring, to hear Strix use the same endearment Mondatta had –jarring, and wrong, in ways Zenyatta could not articulate.

He was out of his depths, but he was not willing to let himself drown.

“Well then,” he straightened his back, the mala around his neck vibrating, “I guess it’s good that I am not weak, and I will not concede on my beliefs.”

“Hmmm… and that is what makes you the more alluring,” Strix murmured, and Zenyatta stiffened when a hand fell on his shoulder. “You have been part in only one of our… missions, so far. It seems it is time to see you be a little… proactive, for our cause. What do you say?”

Zenyatta’s circuits buzzed in wariness and anticipation both. “What did you have in mind?”

“There is a Museum of Omnic History built in Seville, Spain.” Strix’s fingers tightened their hold on Zenyatta’s shoulder, and he fought the urge to shake it off or use the discord vibrating within his chassis against him. “Unfortunately, it depicts us in a rather… unpleasant way. It collects information biased against omnics, and it has already caused a few riots in the omnic quarters of the city and the city nearby, enough that it has been covered by international news already… as they seem to be rather biased.”

Zenyatta hummed. He knew what museum Strix was talking about.

He’d watched the news, just like others had, and he’d been displeased by the crowd of assents the protesters had racked together to back themselves up. Mondatta had… he’d planned on addressing the situation on his own, but Zenyatta did not think a simple speech would do much, against people already agitated and ready for action.

He did not share Strix’s desire for chaos and senseless violence, but Null Sector taking a stand would inspire omnics not to back down against further attacks.

“What would you have me do, then?”

“We are considering taking over the Museum and getting rid of the trash it contains in a… visible, hard to miss way. A very explosive way, you could say.”

Zenyatta’s forehead array flickered into a frown. “Is the museum not in a crowded area of the city? Are there not visitors inside?”

“Fortunately for us, we have planned accordingly –we will choose a local festivity to strike, ensuring no passers-by nor visitors will be harmed. We will form a barrier surrounding the base, teleport down our fighters, and set off the bomb after we gather some media attention, then teleport out of the way.”

Strix seemed to have calculated everything –and while it still seemed a rather dangerous mission, if Zenyatta wanted to start his own path within Null Sector, he needed to take action himself.

And if he was there himself, perhaps he could make sure it did not resort to unnecessary violence.

“I will go,” he said, and looked up to meet Strix’s optics.

“I will trust this operation on you, Zenyatta,” Strix’s hand moved from his shoulder, finally, only to brush against Zenyatta’s chin, startling him into jerking back from the sudden touch. “Do not let me down.”

***

“It was a mistake.”

Zenyatta did not turn around to look at the other omnic as they both walked down the corridors of the empty factory, footsteps echoing in the silence.

“When he finds out–”

“He will _not_ find out, Ater-2.” Zenyatta stopped abruptly, and the other omnic bumped into him, only to hastily take a step back from him.

“We were meant to make the museum explode–”

“We were meant to _destroy_ the museum’s content.” Zenyatta exhaled an artificial breath, fingers trembling slightly as he turned around to face the other omnic. “We did.”

“But–”

“There were people inside that museum –humans.” Zenyatta pressed both hands in front of his faceplate, the motion calming him a little as his orbs hummed and rose a few inches into the air. “I will not have anyone harmed for the sake of a statement.”

He watched a flicker of hesitation on Ater-2’s single-point forehead array as it burned a deeper red.

“They would have–”

“None of them would have deserved it –just like no omnic inside deserved to sacrifice themselves for the sake of it, either. Our lives are not more important than humans’, just like their existence is not more important than ours.” Zenyatta felt a jolt of worry in his core. “Death will only turn the tides on us, and we cannot afford it.”

“Humans don’t care if we survive,” Ater-2 muttered. “Why should we?”

“Because we know better. And we cannot generalise for the sake of personal grudges. Humans have hurt you, but you cannot hurt humans that had nothing to do with your pain and hope this will make you even.”

A flinch, so minute Zenyatta could have missed it, had he not been looking.

“And would you, my dear, raise a hand towards a human who hurt you?”

Both Zenyatta and Ater-2 froze. Zenyatta did not turn around, but he watched Ater-2’s forehead array point turn a red so dark it was almost black. He didn’t need to open his senses to feel his fear.

“That is a question I cannot answer,” he said, focusing on his words instead. “If it happened, I would defend myself. With time to cool, afterwards, I would not wish to waste energy and hatred against a person, even if they deserved it. I will not give up on my own life for the sake of someone else’s hatred.”

“Hmmm.”

Strix stepped forwards, and Ater-2 fell to his knees, almost shaking, though Strix said nothing about it, and utterly ignored him while circling Zenyatta like a vulture.

“I see you suffered no damage, Zenyatta.” Pleasant, but his tone was cold as ice.

“There was little action, once we arrived at the museum.”

“You did not… follow your orders.”

“I refuse to compromise the mission by sullying the message with senseless deaths.”

Strix’s forehead array blinked softly, as if considering Zenyatta’s point.

“The museum caught on fire,” he said, after a few moments of quiet. At his feet, Ater-2 continued to tremble. “The building suffered structural damage, and collapsed.”

Zenyatta nodded, then “all it contained, aside for what we took, was destroyed.”

“What… we took?” now, Strix sounded intrigued. Ater-2 bowed even lower.

“There were documents on small groups of omnics who were able to resist God Ai’s rule and worked alongside humans in the later parts of the war,” Zenyatta confirmed, keeping his tone even. “We don’t know where the museum got that sort of information as it was not previously of public domain, but it was drowned out in a sea of less… positive documents. It felt like a weird oversight, for such a museum –even more so when so few people who aren’t anti-omnic visited the museum’s venue since its opening.”

Strix’s forehead array blinked. “That is not possible. If there had been omnics who resisted the call…”

“They might have been destroyed with the rest of the omnics that were disabled or dismantled, or they might have been decommissioned after the war ended, or they might have ceased to function due to age and lack of spare parts.”

It was true –of the first batches of omnics created in the wake of the end of the war, very few had lasted longer than a few months, and those who had were old and frail, and close to being decommissioned. The rare exceptions were omnics like Mondatta, and models who had not been created to fight and had remained in populated cities or towns, continuing their jobs.

And of course, omnics who had not gained sentience until after the war.

Yet, just the knowledge that some omnics had actively fought the control of the God Ai, rather than simply attempt to circumvent it…

“Alright,” Strix nodded, forehead array burning brightly. “That is something worth saving, I agree. Even if… the way you conducted the mission was not as requested, you have met the goals… and more.”

Zenyatta felt the weight on his core lessen, but did not allow himself to relax –and then, Strix continued.

“If the humans within the museum had attacked you –if they had attempted to stop you, or bargain for their lives with you, would you have considered them expendable sacrifices?”

Zenyatta’s fists clenched.

“We do not have control on the way humans think and act, Zenyatta.” Strix leaned down a little, tone shifting to something sinuous and dangerous. “You can only ever know for sure about your own thoughts, and actions… and sometimes, even your own can surprise you. How easy it is for a stray thought to worm its way into your brain, until your processes are fixated on it, and you wonder… you consider…” Zenyatta looked to the side. “Humans will not hesitate to bring us harm, if it means we are stopped and they do not have to confront a possible loss of control. That they don’t have to give us access to equality. We have the right to oppose them, and if they choose to act against us, we are allowed to strike back… and sometimes strike first. I know you’ve had a long time spent by your old master’s side, but I also know that deep inside, you know his pacifist actions will only carry him to his decommission faster. We are only doing what we do to have what we’re owed, Zenyatta, nothing more… nothing less.”

Strix hummed, then turned sharply towards Ater-2.

“Stand,” he ordered. “You will not be punished for a mishap that happened without any fault of yours. I am your commander, but I can be merciful.”

Ater-2 hastily jumped to his feet. His red forehead array had almost faded in his worry, but he nodded his assent, relieved to be in one piece.

“There will be other missions, and after all,” Strix continued, “what we need is for the humans to talk about us… and they have. You both did well, under pressure. I look forwards to seeing you raise among our ranks… Zenyatta.”

Strix walked away without addressing them further, and Zenyatta watched him go, feeling washed out and tired.

The mission had taken more out of him than he would have expected, and the constant worry about the humans at the museum and the other omnics by his side had drained him of energy, but despite that, the situation had cleared up –and with no casualties.

Zenyatta did worry, though –that he would not be this lucky, in the future, and he had no will to test Strix’s words about his own fortitude when facing humans who wanted him dead.

Yet…

Yet.

Mondatta’s teachings were not words of a simpleton, as Strix seemed to think. Just because omnics deserved to be heard did not mean it would happen to the detriment of humans… but he was starting to think that Strix’s game had a different set of rules, and Zenyatta knew he had no real intention to follow them.

At all.


	9. 08

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a meeting! and we're moving to more... 'current' events :>

**08**

“This is… incredibly bad.”

Commander Jack Morrison stared at the screen in front of him, pensive, the frown that marred his face making him look older than he was.

At his side, Akande and Gabriel shared a glance behind Jack’s back, though neither was smiling.

“I did not expect things to escalate so quickly,” Gabriel grunted, cracking his knuckles. “And it’s too late to send _us_.”

“You still are forbidden from active duty.” Jack did not turn around, but his voice had dropped a few tones, chilled enough that both Akande and Gabriel turned towards him. “Your team is _still_ under supervision, and we have been following the investigation since then. Blackwatch is _still_ suspended.”

And unfortunately for Akande, he was rather familiar with this.

Though Gerard, Jack and Ana were officially in charge of the investigation in front of the UN and the NATO, Akande had pulled quite a few strings and had taken active part in the investigation, using it as a further push to gain more control over Overwatch.

It meant more paperwork, and because of that he had to accept fewer missions, and he had not liked that part at all.

Part of slowly climbing the ranks in Overwatch meant, unfortunately, less time in the field, and Akande was starting to think that perhaps he had done himself a disservice, joining Overwatch instead of telling them to fuck off… but at the same time, the amount of power and action he got with then was unparalleled, even if he had to deal with restrictive rules.

The fact that he did have fun climbing the ranks was only part of the deal –the rest was that he liked a challenge, and finding out the moles and the traitors inside overwatch was exactly what he wanted.

He still needed to delegate more of the paperwork to Jack, though.

“That means,” he interrupted before Gabriel could speak up, “ _I_ will have to go.”

“You?” Jack and Gabriel turned to stare at him with twin expressions of disbelief, and Akande gave them both a feral smile.

“Of course you’re going,” Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How long has it been since your last mission, again?”

“Over two months,” Akande nodded at him, cracking his knuckles.

Gabriel snorted. “Chill, Ogundimu. You sure you want to pledge your lil’ hand for this?”

“Better than send some trainee with no real experience. Who were you thinking of sending, then?”

“Kid has been going insane, coped up inside the base. Started to avoid Shimada, and you know how weird is that, when he’s been trying to get him to open up all along.”

“Shimada does have a tendency to… lash out, instead of think. Or talk. Or… do anything that requires interaction with another human being.” Jack sighed again. “Didn’t Angela say she was suggesting therapy?”

“He’s been… resistant to the idea.”

Akande grunted. “That guy’s a walking bomb. It’s inadmissible to allow him to continue going on mission the way he is.”

“If it works,” Gabriel glared at him, “why change it?”

“Because,” Akande crossed his arms in front of his chest, muscles bulging, “his mental health is deteriorating. I know about all those mission you’re sending him into. He’s coming back with more and more wounds, and don’t you think for a moment that I do not know it’s not Angela the one patching him up again.”

Gabriel’s shoulders squared, his face set in a grimace, and Akande straightened his back, glaring at him.

He would not stand back on this subject –no matter what Gabriel could think, therapy helped. Akande himself had needed it, after he’d lost his arm, and even though at first he’d hated it, it had brought him acceptance for his lost arm.

Blackwatch shouldn’t have existed –and if it had been him in control, rather than that group of useless assholes living away from the base, where they knew nothing about what was going on, Blackwatch would still be an incognita, and the world would not have found out due to Gabriel’s missteps and consequent disaster with Bartalotti.

And now, since Shimada had joined the ranks, things had continued to plummet. The guy was half prosthetic as he was, and Akande disliked the way the overwatch medic team had treated him. At least Akande had been offered an actual choice –and his freedom, albeit restricted, was still there… but Shimada Genji, brought back to life only through sheer luck and hard work, and rebuilt so a good third of his body was prosthetic, hadn’t had that luck.

Genji had been forced to join Overwatch, much like Jesse had years before, by offering him a fake choice –either die (or in Jesse’s case, rot in juvie, only to be sent to actual prison on his eighteenth birthday) or accept to serve Overwatch and hunt down whoever enemy Overwatch would need him to kill.

Angered at his brother’s betrayal, furious with himself for being weak and desperate, Genji had accepted. He’d woken up weeks later with a body that was not the same as before, and had struggled with it ever since then.

Under Gabriel’s care, Akande had thought Genji would feel better –after all, Jesse had become close to Gabriel rather quickly… but then again, Jesse was not Genji.

Gabriel’s careless attitude towards Genji was… concerning, and he knew without asking that Jack was feeling the same way.

“You can continue to fight over Genji’s situation at a later date,” Jack pushed between them, forcing them to step down and acknowledge that the time was not right. “We have something better to focus on –specifically, Null Sector’s attack on King’s Row.”

Akande sighed and turned his full attention back on the screen in front of them.

Null Sector had grown exponentially bigger over the past years, expanding from the smaller but aggressive group into a true danger, one Overwatch could not overlook anymore.

Thanks to Mondatta’s help, Overwatch had been able to detail Null Sector’s expansion and found out that it had, in recent years, split in two different sides. On one side the more radical group, led by an omnic by the name Strix, who had continued to escalate the already rocky relationship between humans and omnics, attempting to force humans to back down and bring omnics to power. On the other side a smaller group that had detached from Null Sector after an incident at Madrid, which had caused an old theatre to crumble, killing hundreds of people and omnics inside.

Null Sector had claimed the attack, citing the deaths of the omnics a necessary sacrifice but rejoicing for the death of the humans.

Overwatch knew little about the motivations of the second group, but Akande, in contact with Mondatta, knew more. It was led by Mondatta’s former pupil, the omnic called Zenyatta, disgusted by Strix’s violence. Akande could understand –as a former Shambali monk, Zenyatta probably still held some of the non-violent tendencies Mondatta had taught him, and the death of so many was a tragedy no monk could forgive.

He did find their name ironic, in a way –Akuros, to mean the void they’d left behind in Null Sector with their absence, but also the void that only equality between races could fill. Or perhaps, Akande considered, the void their leader felt, adrift from familiar things, forced to become something different.

He had spent enough time talking with Mondatta, after all.

“Akande.” Jack turned to look at him, just as serious and intense as before. “Are you sure you wish to go?”

“I do. I will bring with me some of the old guard. We will turn this mission into a success.” Akande’s teeth flashed into a smirk. “And perhaps I’ll let Lena join in, as well. She seemed a bit coped up, recently.”

***

Akande cursed.

Null Sector had them surrounded and separated, their barriers hard to take down, even with his doomfist smashing through their defenses. Lena, was fast but she could not be everywhere at once, and with Reinhardt and Angela backed into a corner somewhere on the other side of the building where Akande was, it would be difficult to work around that unless by demolishing every wall.

Reinhardt was powerful, but slower than most of the smaller omnics, even with Angela’s help, and with Torbjorn busy working on the payload with the explosives in order to avoid a premature explosion, they were forced to be on defense more often than not.

And now, separated by walls and a sea of annoying omnics, Akande felt it might be time to consider that buildings could be reconstructed, and it wasn’t like the Null Sector omnics had any care about ruining the area, either.

“Torbjorn,” he went to him first. “How’s the explosive?”

“Not exploding, at least not yet,” the man answered, gruff and clipped as usual. “Not sure if that will hold up, with these rotten bots coming at me from all directions! Get your ass out there and help, Ogundimu!”

“If we direct a bunch of omnics your way, can you keep them busy while Reinhardt and Angela join you?”

“Sure, sure, just have me do all the hard work while you look from afar. Just what I need!”

Akande snorted. Despite the situation, Torbjorn still had enough breath to complain, so the situation wasn’t as lost as it could have been.

“Tracer,” he called out next, “can you group some of the enemies up where Torbjorn’s turret is?”

The comm crackled with electricity. “Sure thing, Commander! Right on it!”

“Reinhardt, how’s your shield?”

“A bit battered, but I’m not going down yet! There is still fight in this body! Angela is with me, but we can’t move.”

“We’ll try to create a diversion for you to move. Just get to where Torbjorn is, I’ll try to get us a clear path through to where I am.”

“Ooh, time to smash?”

Akande’s lips curled up in a smile at Reinhardt’s words.

“Indeed.”

He closed the comm, and looked out of his corner, deciding which direction would work better to open a path.

“Perhaps,” a new voice piped in from behind him, “I could be of assistance.”

Akande moved before he could think –he turned around in a flash and threw a punch with his doomfist, blades exploding from his knuckles, only to have them deflected by a set of floating orbs.

In front of him was a tall Null Sector omnic, forehead array a burning teal, his neck surrounded by a set of glowing orbs. Compared to the new, polished appearance of the omnics they had been fighting until then, this one held himself differently, and had a few scratches and scrapes on his faceplate and chassis.

Something else about him was weird, but Akande, full of adrenaline, did not stop to think what that could be until the omnic spoke again.

“I mean no harm to you, Akande Ogundimu.”

Akande narrowed his eyes, preparing to attack again. “You have me at disadvantage,” he growled through gritted teeth. “For I do not know your name.”

“You do know of it, though we never met. You have been in contact with my brother.”

The omnic’s tone was even, but Akande jolted when something twisted around him, like a dark cloud that sent a shiver of premonition down Akande’s back.

For a moment, he forgot where he was, and that he was hiding in a corner of King’s Row to prepare for what they needed to do, and that the rest of his team was spread around, and simply observed the omnic, his calm, collected stance, his fingers intertwined in front of him, the nine point array…

This omnic was not a fighter, or at least one would not think so, with the exposed circuitry and the lithe frame, but there was something steely about him, something poised and hiding behind that weak appearance.

Then, something clicked. “You are Tekhartha Zenyatta,” Akande murmured, shocked.

This was the first time, despite both of them being in contact with Mondatta, they’d met.

“Simply Zenyatta,” the omnic replied, lifting one hand. “That title only belongs to those who hold mastery under the Shambali, and I am not one anymore.”

“What are you doing…” then, Akande shook his head. That was a stupid question, he realised. “Ah, of course. Mondatta.”

“He is here,” Zenyatta nodded. “Null Sector made a grave mistake. I thought we could find a way to end this without a confrontation, but I was wrong. Thus, I am here to… assist Overwatch.”

“You do not seem enthused.”

“I am not. Overwatch has been under fire, recently, for… unpleasant accusations.” Akande knew what Zenyatta meant. Other than the problems Overwatch was going through with moles and traitors from inside, it had to deal with a few botched missions that had caused the deaths of many omnics in important positions. Akande knew who was behind those –Talon’s reach seemed to run deeper than he’d thought– but there were few he could trust with that information. He knew how things looked from outside, though, so he simply nodded his assent. “Yet,” Zenyatta continued, “my brother supports _you_.”

Akande swallowed, understanding more than Zenyatta had said with those simple words.

“I trust you to save my brother, Akande Ogundimu of Overwatch,” Zenyatta said, and offered him his hand. “Allow me to assist in this endeavour.”

There was no hesitation when Akande held the lithe, frail hand in his doomfist gauntlet, dwarfing it further in the enormous prosthetic, and Zenyatta eyed it appreciatively before glancing up at him.

There was a familiarity there between Zenyatta and Mondatta, but it was subtle enough that at first, Akande could not really see it past the similar forehead array composition.

Where Mondatta was solemn and his power was clear to those who searched for it, Zenyatta held himself differently, slouching a little bit, displaying his frame in ways that made him smaller, like he meant to be overlooked.

A deceiving look –because as he held Akande’s hand, Zenyatta straightened his back, and there was a change in him, shoulders squared and head held high… and there, the similarities were glaring.

The same power Mondatta had was not absent within his student, but only concealed, to be used when needed.

“How will you be able to assist me, Zenyatta?” Akande asked, taking a step back. “Are you here alone, or is your group to stand by us against your old companions?”

Zenyatta’s orbs shone, and the omnic energy glow twisted and changed, turning into something darker, violet and menacing, and Akande felt a pressure against the back of his head, insistent and heavy, like the growing realisation that he was doomed and nothing would be able to save him.

Then, as fast as it had appeared, the pressure disappeared, leaving him momentarily stunned and woozy.

“I have my ways, mister Akande,” Zenyatta hummed pleasantly. “Now let us march. My brother awaits.”

Akande smirked. There was no reason to waste any more time, then –he lifted his doomfist in the air, charging against the wall in front of them and smashing through it, sending debris everywhere.

“Hmm.” Zenyatta observed the hole, tilting his head to the side. “Effective. Do you plan on creating a path through the building this way to your companions, then?”

“Yes. So stand back, we’re going to have some fun very soon.”

“Impressive… so allow me to make sure you do not… expend yourself before then.”

Warmth blossomed withing Akande’s chest, just as sudden as the pressure had been before, but opposite in its feeling. It felt like energy was cursing through him, not unlike Angela’s boost beam, but softer, gentler, invigorating him, giving back to his muscles some of the energy he’d lost fighting before.

It was also familiar, as Akande had seen Mondatta’s healing abilities in the past, but this… it felt stronger than that. It was clear that even without being a Shambali, Zenyatta had continued to train, and had surpassed his master in the same way Akande had his own.

“Your gift is much appreciated,” Akande smirked.

The walls of the building fell one after the other as Akande advanced with Zenyatta behind him, and when the last wall fell, clearing a clean path across for his companions to reach him, Akande found himself back in the battlefield.

As he had hoped, Angela and Reinhardt had managed to join Torbjorn and Lena once again, but the amount of enemies they were facing was enough that they had been pushed closer to the payload to defend the explosives from the constant onslaught.

Akande watched with worry as a giant walking omnic bomb advanced slowly towards them, undeterred by the turret’s attacks, and prepared to join his companions into the fray–

“Please, allow me to give you some aid.”

Zenyatta stepped from behind Akande, moving out of the protection of the destroyed building and out into the open area.

Instantly, the closest Null Sector omnics turned to look towards him, detecting movement, and Akande gritted his teeth, lifting his doomfist to fight.

Then, a few of the Null Sector omnics stumbled away from Zenyatta as he advanced, his pace even and calm.

“You do recognise me, do you?” he murmured, and though a few of the Null Sector omnics hesitantly stepped forwards to impede him, others backed down, appearing almost scared. “You know you made a mistake, bringing Mondatta here.”

“You are the one who made a mistake,” one of the Nullifiers hissed out, and with a gesture, many of the other omnics surrounded him and Akande. “You betrayed the cause to align yourself with the humans. You shall perish like them, as well.”

“No one will perish here, my friend,” Zenyatta lifted both hands into the air, and his orbs rose above him, circling around him, spinning faster, and as Akande watched, their soft glow turned again into the ominous, dark violet.

He cringed, expecting an onslaught of pressure –yet none was directed at him, only at the enemies surrounding them, and Akande watched as they stumbled and fell on the ground, a loud, discordant sound coming from their synths.

As if that had been a signal of some kind, teleporters went off around the plaza, but instead of Null Sector troops coming to the aid of their enemies, the omnics that appeared were all wearing the symbol of Zenyatta’s group, Akuros.

“I did not come alone,” Zenyatta clenched his fist, and his orbs shot forwards, slamming into the head of the Nullifier, sending him toppling down on the ground.

On the other side of the plaza, Akande saw Reinhardt, Angela, Lena and Torbjorn perk up, suddenly aware the tides of the fight had turned.

“Now, mister Akande,” Zenyatta told him sharply, and Akande could hear the strain in his tone for what it was as the violet energy seemed to spread further, touching more and more omnics and having them struggle and falter.

That power, disruptive and oppressive as it was, was not infallible, nor invincible, and Zenyatta was on a timer.

He clenched his doomfist, nodded at Zenyatta, and attacked.


	10. 09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains... a lot of shit. it's a chapter dealing with genji and this new zenyatta, who's kind of... different from original zenyatta, so the way he deals with genji is more... harsh, so please proceed with caution through this.

**09**

“I did not wish to be here.”

“That much is clear to me.”

“Then why don’t you do the right thing and send me back?”

“Oh, do not misunderstand me. You are free to leave whenever you want.”

The words were startling enough that he froze, dropping out of his defensive stance to look up at the omnic in front of him.

Genji, as displeased as he was for what seemed to be a long term mission, knew he’d been sent there for a reason –commander Akande in person had overridden Gabriel’s orders to send him to this city in India to assist a group of omnics. Whatever the reason was, though, Genji felt it was a mistake.

The specifics weren’t clear, as Genji had been far less interested in learning what the mission was, not when he’d been removed from a far more interesting mission alongside Gabriel, but it had something to do with protecting the local population of omnics against a newly passed law. With Gabriel, he would have seen action –not here. No way for him to get used to his fullest potential.

A waste.

The omnic in front of him, with his frail appearance and motionless facemask, was to be his ‘commander’ for this mission –an omnic giving him orders, an omnic he was expected to obey directly, as Genji had been sent here alone, meeting with him in the middle of an abandoned building in the outskirts of the city, where the City Council would not see them before the time was right.

It had taken Genji very little, to start acting out, displeased at the realisation that he would not get to do anything except intimidate, unless things degenerated further –and that the omnic had no intention of letting things escalate at all.

His voice was tense, accusing, when he spoke up next. “I was told my presence here was mandatory to accomplish the mission.”

“To be fair, it is not.” The omnic hummed, as if pleased, and tilted his head to the side. “I have worked with your commander in the past, and I would have preferred his presence to yours. What was needed was… an intimidating figure, so to speak… and he had apparently other things to do, so he sent _you_.” The omnic turned to look at him, contemplating him for a moment, optics moving up and down his body before finally looking away, as if what he’d found was lacking.

That… stung, and it made the annoyance turn darker inside him.

Like he couldn’t see what everyone else saw when looking at Genji –a mismatched monster, scarred yet lethal, every part of him living through borrowed time.

He had no reason to feel displeased – _furious, offended_ – by the omnic’s words, by the clear dismissal he’d conveyed by his tone alone and by the nonchalant way he acted around Genji, like he was not impressed, or scared, or wary of him… yet he was.

How dare he look at him like that, when Genji was standing there as the perfect weapon, polished and sharpened to be used, and find him lacking?

It was obvious the omnic had to at least know who he was, he must have been briefed with that much information, so all Genji could take from his attitude was that he was underestimating him, or he did not wish Genji to be there.

Maybe this omnic was already scared of him, and hiding it behind a façade, but the lying only made Genji feel more furious. He should _not_ care, like he cared not for what anyone else thought, so he forced the rage bubbling under the surface further down, swallowing the bile.

“We do not often get what we want out of life,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“How unfortunate,” the omnic hummed back. “I suppose you must make a choice, then. Bow your head and work with me for the duration of the mission and then leave, or return with your failure to your superiors, accepting punishment and forsaking this mission, possibly causing problems to your organization for acting up against orders. It is your choice.”

Genji hissed at him, and the omnic hummed, sounding amused.

“I did not say it was a fair choice, Shimada Genji. I merely said it was a choice.”

He knew when he was being mocked, and this omnic, with his carefree words, with his attitude, with the way he kept _dismissing_ him like he mattered nothing… he was mocking him.

“Who the _fuck_ are you,” the rage that he’d attempted to bury came back with vengeance at the omnic’s clear dismissal.

“I was briefed about you, Genji-san,” the omnic said, dismissing his question with a wave of his hand. Genji would have been impressed by the way that honorific sounded more like insult than deference, if he had not been the one insulted by it. “You are definitely not what was needed for this mission. We need the intimidation factor, of course, but not if it means running directly into danger thoughtlessly, else we do more damage than it is needed. You often lose yourself to the rage within you, as you are doing now, and we are not even enemies, here. You are _detrimental_ for this mission.”

“I will not accept such disrespect from a machine!”

Genji did not know why he’d been sent here alone without one of his superiors, when they all knew he would not follow orders from anyone other than them, but if this was a trick, if they simply wanted him to lash out at this omnic instead of following his orders, then he could do that… especially when goaded in such a way.

Genji shot towards the omnic without thinking, aware that he could not truly harm him, not when Overwatch had him on a leash and this was, albeit unwillingly, an ally… but he could scare this frail-looking omnic, could make him regret his words and look at him in respect, or at least with the same fear everybody did when looking at Genji.

One moment and he was unsheathing his wakizashi as he ran towards the omnic, the next he was landing on his back on the ground, air forced out of his lungs by a hand against his chest.

His rage boiled over and he pushed the hand pinning him before rolling out of the way, attacking again–

And again, he ended up on the ground.

He rose once more, eyes glowing red and wakizashi unsheathed fully, losing grip on the last of his sanity as the only thing left to him was a desire to best this omnic for daring to attack him, and he lashed out for the third time… and once again he failed.

Landing painfully on his back, Genji lifted his weapon against the omnic keeping him down, but what he did not expect was to feel a pressure grow into the back of his head, filling him with a sense of helplessness and dread that left him choking on nothing, eyes wide and unseeing as his limbs fell slack on the ground by his sides under the sudden onslaught, gasping until the pressure finally faded away and he was left panting, curled on himself on the ground.

He felt impossibly drained, and weakened, reeling from the shadow of voices whispering into his ear about giving up, voices that sounded so much like his own.

“Your discord swells within you in such a way that it is eating you alive, Genji-san.” The omnic’s voice penetrated his mind like a knife, making him pale.

“What was that–”

“That was your own anger, expanded and returned to you in a nice, shiny wrapping. Not as pleasant, when it is directed at you, is it?”

“Fu–”

The pressure in his mind was back, fierce like a blade, stealing the words from him and leaving him shaking, teeth clacking as if freezing, and in fact he did feel cold, his entire body chilled to the bone.

When the pressure left again, he slumped down, feeling worn out.

“I am no teacher, Genji-san. I do not have the patience nor the desire to take on a student to lead them to a better life. I cannot force a soul to change to suit what I feel would be best for them… and truly, with the way your soul is screaming inside you like a caged animal on its way to slaughter, the path of destruction you’ve taken will only damn you to a life of misery, for how long you will manage to keep breathing.” The omnic sounded casual, like his words mattered none, and to him, they probably did not. But to Genji, who was perfectly aware that with every reckless step he tried to lose himself, the words were like a sword, sharp and painful. “I see no salvation for you, as you refuse to ask.”

“Shut up. You think yourself smart, but you’re just a machine. You speak about souls like you’re owed one, but what use is a soul for you, when it inhabits metal?”

Genji stood up on his knees, shaking, and looked up at the omnic’s unchanging visage, glaring at him.

“Oh, I see. So that is what you see, when you look at yourself. A helpless machine hosting an unwilling soul.”

“Fuck–”

“I knew Overwatch had a bloody past, but I see they were hiding far more damning mistakes behind that heroic façade.”

The sudden change of subject left Genji reeling, and even more so the sudden, unexplained sadness in the omnic’s voice, but it was enough to stall him and the omnic moved closer, towering over him.

“You think you were not cheated out, when they took you in and turned you into a weapon, Genji-san? Or do you consider yourself lucky despite your exterior, for you are still living?”

Genji gritted his teeth. Washed out and drained of everything, it felt like the words came out on their own, prompted by the omnic’s mere presence, more honest than he would have been otherwise. “Of course not. What luck is there to be a monster like this?”

“If you are a monster for being stuck between two worlds, what does that say about your views of omnics, then? If you are a monster, we are nothing but abominations. Willingly parading around like we are more than we should, asking for equality when we are empty husks, faking our emotions, pretending to have feelings. Is that your truth, Genji-san?”

Again, the redirection had Genji stumble with his words, for despite his anger at this particular omnic, he held no hatred for machines who were built fully as they were. No, his only hatred was towards himself, for this limbo that could not be called a life, and towards those who had turned him into a weapon, only useful if it stayed sharp.

What was there to say? He could not accuse them of pretending, of faking it, of fooling others by acting like they had rights, they had minds, and souls. The dissonance grated to Genji’s nerves, forcing him to acknowledge that with his hatred towards himself, he was offering insult to others that were not him.

Before, he had not cared –but now, he was forced to face what he’d denied, the omnic’s presence impossible to refuse.

He hated it.

No words left his lips, and the way he glared at the omnic said enough of what he thought, but something in his stance must have offered the omnic some kind of answer, because he exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping a little.

Genji could not read into an omnic’s gestures, but a part of him thought he looked almost… disillusioned. Sad.

It only lasted a second before the omnic straightened his back, once again a wolf hiding in sheep’s clothes.

“Well then, Genji-san. If you truly think yourself cursed, if you truly wish to bring demise upon yourself, as long as it is something that befell you and you did not truly seek it out with your own hands… allow me to offer you that mercy.”

That gave Genji pause.

“What…?”

The omnic straightened his back, and his orbs shone darkly, a violet shine surrounding them. The pressure that had plagued Genji’s mind earlier returned, though muted, like a promise of pain. “You wish for death. I can provide it for you. Your superiors will not hold any say in it, and I will leave you in such a state that they will not be able to bring you back once more. Your life as a weapon will cease, and you will be free.”

A chill ran down Genji’s back.

There was a trickle of anticipation in that promise, but above all, Genji felt a wariness so deep his bones ached with it.

Had the omnic offered to kill him…?

“After all,” the omnic murmured, almost to himself, as he advanced towards Genji, “we are all one within the Iris.”

The first blow sent Genji reeling, pain blooming into his skull as one of the omnic’s orbs smashed into his shoulder –yet, it would have struck his throat, had Genji not protected it by shifting his balance.

“What is it, Genji-san? Are you not tired? Do you not wish to end it all?”

The sheer, overwhelming fear Genji felt as the omnic came at him, violet energy pushing past his mental walls like there were none, overrode everything.

When the second orb came for him, he had barely enough time to roll out of the way, jumping to his feet in an instant, only to be kicked back down, the omnic’s movements so fast he had no time to do anything except scramble out of the way, desperate for a moment of reprieve that he was not allowed to have.

All along, the despair he felt bubbled up inside him like bile, growing and thickening like a knot in his throat, choking him.

Give in, it commanded, for there is no hope anywhere.

Genji’s brain stopped thinking and he only reacted, cornered like a beast, but rather than let go to the despair that demanded him to give in, Genji fought against it, wild and afraid and furious.

He evaded the omnic’s attack, but he faltered at the constant pressure, the growing paranoia in his mind that sent his heart racing so hard he thought it would rip out of his chest, hands shaking as he tried his best to remember how to fight, how to react, and defended himself.

There was no finesse in this fight –he felt completely and utterly powerless, and the fear within him continued to grow and grow, surpassing the despair that purple light forced him to feel until there was nothing else but that.

He was afraid, he was out of his depths, and there was no way out of this, except–

A hand slammed into his throat, and Genji dug his fingers into the wrist holding him against a wall, the grip tight enough he could feel it press around his neck, the pressure increasing, steely and unmovable.

Caught as he was he lashed out, but the grip did not let up, and Genji felt blood rush into his ears as he kicked and tried to rip the hand out of the way, unsuccessfully.

“Why do you fear so,” the omnic’s voice managed to penetrate through the thick mist around Genji’s head. “Did you not want this? Did you not want to find an opponent that could finally overpower you so completely you would have no other choice but to submit?”

The hand tugged him forwards and then pushed him hard into the wall, head ricocheting so hard his ears started to ring, and he gasped and gurgled as he bit down on the inside of his mouth and had to spit blood, lungs screaming–

The grip loosened, and air rushed in, heart pounding into his ears.

Genji crumbled down in front of the omnic and vomited out all he had in his stomach.

Above him, the omnic observed him idly.

“You are full of fear, Genji-san. Tell me. Do you truly wish to die?”

Yes, Genji wanted to say, wheezing, tears rolling down his cheeks, yes. I’ve wanted that since I was brought back to life only to find out exactly what life I had been offered. Yes, because being a weapon is nothing, because I am useless for everything else, because once I’m blunted, I will have to face my own failure. Yes, because if I let go of my hatred, of my rage, if I forget even for a moment that all I want is to face my brother again, I realise I am empty, and that I have nothing.

Yes, because I’ve become nothing but the weapon I was designed to be, and that is not life, and I don’t want to–

“No,” he gasped out, eyes wide.

With every breath he took, shuddering, desperate, was a thrill of relief, not dread.

“No, I am wrong… or no, you do not want to die?”

“No, I don’t–” I don’t want to die, he thought, desperately, as he choked down on his own breath and curled up at the omnic’s feet.

No, he didn’t want to die. The fear inside him, the desire to fight back, animalistic, raw, desperate…

_Why_ did he not want to die?

Movement above him and Genji flinched, expecting another blow that never came.

The omnic knelt in front of him, and the pressure against Genji’s mind faded away, replaced by a warmth so complete it felt like it was encompassing his entire body, seeping inside him slowly until he was full of it, the pain gone, replaced by a tender ache, fatigue battling in his body.

A hand, smooth and solid and cool, touched his chin, rubbed where it had choked him earlier, and the pain lessened from a throbbing down to a dull ache, then faded completely.

“You do not truly wish to die, Genji.” The omnic’s voice was softer, compassionate, left Genji reeling, the sudden lack of honorific jarring. “It is not in your nature to give up, because you are so completely, fully human. You are no weapon. Your soul screams but not for vengeance. It screams for a chance at redemption. It screams so loudly anyone with ears could hear it as I do, yet very few choose to listen. Your commander has, and he sent you to me… and I could hear it, loud and desperate, begging for attention.” A soft, weary sigh. “I forgot how it feels, to be a teacher. For so long I have only been a combatant… it feels like that life is far from me, and that I cannot afford to even entertain the idea, yet… yet, something within you compels me to look, because you have no one else.”

Genji could not understand the change –the softness in the omnic’s voice after the rough violence, but the rage within him was soothed by the warmth, leaving his mind clear for what felt like the first time in forever.

He’d given his all against this omnic, only to be beaten down so easily and quickly, helplessly flailing at his mercy… because truly, the omnic had been merciful, and had not truly meant to kill him.

The blows had been strong, but Genji had still managed to avoid them, until he had been forced to face himself and the truth of it, and once he’d done so, the omnic had relented.

A lesson, not a threat –and the only kind of lesson Genji could understand in his mindless rage.

Genji realised, with a startled gasp, that he was still crying, and that he could not stop, the tears rolling down his cheeks to blur his sight.

He did not want to die.

“Genji,” the omnic murmured, and moved away, allowing Genji a moment to simply breathe, though he felt cold at the loss of the omnic’s hand. “Forgive me for the harm I’ve caused you.”

“I…”

“This body might be made of metal interwoven with flesh, but the soul that inhabits it is still there. We are not different in that we lack a soul, but in how we were made. Having a metal body won’t take your soul away from you. You are still _here_ , Genji. You exist. Will you allow me to try and guide you out of the darkness you’re facing?”

Ridiculous, Genji thought, shaking, this omnic, his words, his actions, the fact that he’d almost killed him only to turn his words around and now was offering him… what?

Guidance?

Help?

To him?

Genji felt like laughing in the face of this omnic, who dared to talk to him like this, dared to treat him like a disposable nothing, first attacking him then… then…

The omnic was right.

Genji did not want to die. He wanted to live.

He wanted to be someone again. He wanted it so much it hurt, and with every day that he fell deeper into his despair, he could only lash out again and again, and gain nothing out of it.

Ridiculous, why did he still hope, after so many years?

Yet, the most ridiculous truth… he found himself hoping still.

This omnic had bested him, but he did not find it in himself to be angry for that.

Genji’s shoulders slumped.

He felt… seen.

Among so many eyes that looked through him, past him, voices giving him orders, in the chaos of his own mind, in the anger that was such a constant…

Someone had _looked_ at him.

He did not want to die.

“ _Please_.”

The voice sounded so alien to his ears, it took him a moment to realise it was his own.

“Then I will try to do my best, my student.” The hand on his chin shifted to cup his cheek, the warmth inside him steady and calming, reassuring. “You are not alone.”

Genji swallowed, aware that he was a mess yet for once not caring whatsoever about it.

This omnic had seen him at his worst, had faced him down and stripped him raw until nothing else but Genji was left… and there was no shame he could feel, too tired for that.

“Who are you?” he breathed out, stuttering, needing to know.

The omnic seemed startled, a soft chuckle leaving his synth.

“Please forgive me, Genji. I am Zenyatta. For the duration of this mission… and if you wish, even after that… you will be under my care.”

***

“What do you mean, Genji’s ‘currently unavailable’?”

Gabriel spun around, glaring at Akande, eyes narrowed in anger.

Akande returned the gaze impassibly. “The mission might take longer than we thought, unfortunately. The government and the city council have disapproved of Overwatch’s intrusion in the negotiations… in fact, they did not want any negotiation to happen, but the lawyers appointed by the Shambali, together with protests all over the city and Akuros’ involvement, have turned the tides… unfortunately that made the situation tricky, and it has resorted to returning the peaceful protests with increasing violent responses from the local police.”

“And you sent Genji there because…?”

“Because, of course, Overwatch has an _investment_ in continuing its ties with both the Shambali and Akuros.” Akande attempted to sound sheepish, but he knew he’d failed, as Gabriel stiffened and turned around to look at something else to hide the grimace. “Genji needed some… action, but he also needed to be away from here. Being coped up made him even more irascible.”

“It is why he should have been with me, not with someone who can’t handle him,” Gabriel hissed.

Akande observed him, quietly, a lurch in his chest at watching the way Gabriel seemed to pull back into himself, the little tics that gave away the fact that he was irritated.

“I do not think I’ve seen the dossiers on the last few medical exams for Genji,” he said instead, neutrally. “Have Moira send them up to me.”

“Do you not trust me anymore, Akande?” Gabriel stepped closer, eyes narrowed, and frowned at him, jutting his chin up in challenge. “That you question the methods of my team?”

“This is not about your team, or your decisions. This is about files that should be easily available for all the medic team, including Angela… yet, she hasn’t seen Genji in months. Moira seems rather possessive of her subjects.”

“Moira has her way of dealing with things, you know that,” Gabriel shot back, brushing off Akande’s words. “She is fascinated with the by-product of Angela’s work on Genji’s body, and the follow-ups, as well.”

“Yes, I’m aware that she is behind some of the newest parts of Genji’s mechanical body. Her augmentations come from my own factory, and the quality is top-notch. Unfortunately, if she hasn’t kept up Genji’s documents with her latest changes, she will end up with a disciplinary hearing. So tell her to work by the book, no exceptions.”

Gabriel showed his teeth in a barely passable attempt at a smile, then turned around, ready to leave. “Of course, _commander_.”

“Gabriel.” Akande waited, but Gabriel did not turn around, he simply waited. “I know I have joined after you did, and you might be… displeased we ended up on equal ranks, even though your mires were always turned to your own faction, rather than the Overwatch side… but we are friends.” A pause. “Are we?”

“Of course, Ogundimu,” Gabriel’s voice was even and almost pleasant. “After all, we both want what’s best for this organization.”

When he left, Akande stared at where he had been for a long while, a frown on his face.


End file.
